


Here, There Be Dragons

by mandysimo13



Series: Attend the Tale of John Watson [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventuring, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Crack, Fluff, Greg is a Saint, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Questing, Sex, Sherlock Is A Little Shit, Witchcraft, fairytale AU, john is also a little shit, slaying dragons and shit, tally-hoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

“John, you’ve been on lots of quests.”

 

“I have.”

 

“Some of them bloody, terrifying, ending in death.”

 

“Some of them, yes.”

 

Sherlock smiled wryly at him and said, “care to go on one more?”

  
John grinned in return and gripped Sherlock’s hand tightly. He knew that, whatever happened, this was going to be the most important quest he would ever embark on. There was only one answer he could give. “God yes.”

 

The two men grinned at each other like loons so long that the rest of the world faded away. At that precise moment, as far as they were concerned, nothing else existed but the two of them. John was about to reach for Sherlock to draw him into a kiss, to seal their decision with a physical act of joining, when a disgusted cough broke their mutual gaze. 

 

“Forgive my intruding on your, frankly disgusting, ‘eye-banging’, brother dear. But we do have some rather urgent planning to do if we’re going to, oh I don’t know, save the kingdom?”

 

John, at least, had the good grace to duck his head sheepishly at Mycroft’s scolding. Sherlock had no such compunction. 

 

“I suppose I can forgive the intrusion. We are in your office, after all,” Sherlock said smoothly, eyes never leaving John’s face. 

 

Knowing one of them had to be levelheaded enough to get them through strategizing before celebrating their small victory, John forced himself to turn his eyes Mycroft. The elder Holmes brother looked on with a mixture of disgust and amusement and John found difficult not to lay his affection for Sherlock on a little thicker just to get a rise out of him. He was fairly certain Mycroft would puff up like an affronted toad and just the idea made a laugh tickle the back of John’s throat. He forced it back with a cough and asked, “so where do we start?”

 

“We start by convincing Mummy and Father that you’re essential to the quest. They would insist on Sherlock having backup, regardless, but they know that you have a motive for being a part of it. That will make them suspicious about your intentions. Especially since you came waltzing into breakfast wearing Sherlock’s old clothes. Don’t think for one second  _ that _ had escaped my notice.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sherlock said disinterestedly. 

 

“I think that my reputation speaks for itself,” John said proudly. “I mean, I would brag but you kind of did that for me already with that little monologue in your pocket.”  


 

“Your reputation will legitimize your request, yes. But, let’s not forget Mary.”

 

Sherlock seemed suddenly interested. “Mary who?”

 

_ Shit,  _ John cursed internally. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, John said while staring at his nails, “she was...my girlfriend.”

 

“Who, after being kidnapped, willingly married a rival king,” Mycroft continued.

 

Scowling at his nails, not daring to look at Sherlock, John mumbled, “who, after being kidnapped, willingly married a rival king.”

 

John could feel Sherlock’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he let the tension roll back and forth between them while Mycroft explained it to Sherlock. 

 

“John was, and still is I suppose, very much the knightly cliche. He slays beasts, completes quests, and saves damsels in distress. Mary was one of these damsels that he rescued and they were together for some time, weren’t you?”

 

John nodded jerkily once. “Two years.”

 

“And when it seemed you’d have a hero’s happily ever after, a wife and seven kids-”

 

“Actually, I was thinking more like three-”

 

“Poor Mary was snatched away. You rode out to save her, galant as you are, and professed your love right there in the church during the ceremony. Only to have her choose money and security over love and have your arse handed to you before getting tossed out on your ear.”

 

Sherlock snapped, “I fail to see the point of this story.”

 

“Don’t you?” Mycroft quirked an amused eyebrow at him and asked, “don’t you think it would occur to Mummy and Father, knowing John’s history-”

 

“How on God’s flat earth do they know about this,” Sherlock interrupted.

 

“It was the best gossip for months,” Mycroft said with undisguised mirth. “Really, better than a tourney, all that knightly gossip. Anyway, knowing John’s story they might think that John’s trying to marry up out of spite. Mary, from what I hear, is quite happy with her chosen husband. A lesser man might seek to level the playing field between them a little, just to spite her. Soothe the wound, so to speak.”

 

Sherlock whipped his head to look at John and this time John couldn’t ignore his gaze. He looked at him with an open expression and said, “Sherlock, Mary means nothing to me anymore. Yes, she broke my heart but she has no control over it anymore.”

 

Sherlock levelled a look at him that screamed “we’ll talk about this later” and John suddenly wished planning for their quest would take all day. It’s not like he purposely hid Mary from him. But Mary, even with Sherlock in his heart, was a sore subject. He didn’t like to think about having been brought so low, to almost lose himself in the depression that followed his humiliating rejection. Heartbreak and depression aren’t exactly topics that one find to be delightful “wooing” conversation. John swore he would have told Sherlock about her. Eventually. 

 

John answered Sherlock’s near furious glower with one that pleaded for him to put his thoughts on hold. He silently radiated “not the time for this, please” and Sherlock seemed to agree. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair and said, “let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

 

The planning itself went fairly quickly. Quicker than John would have liked, knowing the uncomfortable conversation that awaited them when they were finished. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, was good at compartmentalising his thoughts. He seamlessly switched gears from angry lover to engaged strategist and soon enough the three of them they fleshed out a strategy that they hoped would appease the king and queen. Mycroft would first propose the dissolution of Sherlock’s marriage contract, citing it as part of Sherlock’s terms of partaking in the quest for two reasons; the first being that he could die in the quest and he wanted to free Irene from official mourning. The second was that he still, officially had no desire to marry unless it was for love. Mycroft expected there to be an immediate refusal, due to the fact that Belgravia had not rescinded their offer of a marriage between Irene and Sherlock during his time away. Prepared for this, he would then introduce in his prepared solution. To maintain good ties with Belgravia, Mycroft would suggest a list of cousins that Belgravia and Posh-ville could exchange for fostering. He would cite that while Irene had not backed out of the marriage, she had a general distaste for marriage. Coupled with Sherlock’s well demonstrated flair for dramatic exits, he would suggest that it would be wise to hold off on marriage until a more amicable suitor could be found. Seeing the logic in Mycroft’s plan, it was likely to succeed.

 

Once they accepted their terms for Sherlock returning home and then accepting his quest, John would enact stage two of their plan. He would come to them and ask in court for the honor of participating in the quest alongside Sherlock. Not only was he a brave, seasoned knight, but he also had grown fond of his charge and wanted to join Sherlock’s service. When the request was heard and he was asked what sort of compensation he would take in return for successful completion of the quest John would request Sherlock’s hand in marriage. 

 

“Of course they’ll say ‘no’ and try to dissuade you. And it will be important for you, Sherlock, to dismiss his proposal at first. It will strengthen our argument that you will want to marry for love, not material gain,” Mycroft told them. Seeing their distress, he quickly added, “this is where I’ll step in to advocate for the idea.” 

 

Mycroft would point out Sherlock’s past reckless nature and how difficult he had been as a child. He would point out his stubbornness and all his questionable actions, left mostly unchecked since he’d been able to outsmart guards and nannies alike, until he finally took it upon himself to put himself to sleep. Sherlock bristled like an offended cat but Mycroft paid him no mind. “And this is where I point out that since making John’s acquaintance, you have been more agreeable and less prone to unseemly outbursts. They’ve no need to know that that’s not entirely the case, I know you’re just as stubborn as ever, but I’m sure you can play the part long enough to get a ring on your finger. Am I correct?”

 

Sherlock shrugged, remaining silent and clearly displeased with the idea of rejecting John’s proposal. 

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He rolled his eyes and continued. “I’ll advocate for it publicly only if you manage to both live through the quest and make it back alive. In that case, if the king and queen think that your continued safety and reasonable behavior were to continue with John at your side, you might have a shot. After all, marrying your personal guard is rather convenient when talking about your protection. This is assuming, of course, that you’ll actually resume your duties as prince once you’ve completed the quest.”

 

Sherlock’s reply was terse, spoken through tight lips. “Work. Dull.”

 

“We all have a job to do in this life, Sherlock. You must do yours, as I must do mine. And as of now, I am putting my work on hold for  _ you. _ ”

 

That seemed to chasten him a bit. He nodded once in acceptance and the three ironed out the rest of the details of their plan before John and Sherlock were finally released from Mycroft’s office. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Sherlock was all focused and calculating in one instant, but the second the door closed behind them he was cold and distant. They stood in the hall staring at anything but each other, awkward silence stretching between them.

 

John supposed he couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. So, trying to seem unaffected, he scuffed his boot against the marble floors of the hall and asked, “did you want to ta-”

 

“In my rooms,” Sherlock cut in, not bothering to speak further. He took off in the direction of his rooms, his posture all full of piss and vinegar, and John couldn’t do anything other than follow. 

 

 

\~*~/

 

 

Once back in Sherlock’s rooms, Sherlock strode over to the large windows on the side opposite the doors and stared out as if the gardens below personally offended him. John followed cautiously, knowing that a fight was brewing. Before they confessed their love, John would have had no problem having it out with Sherlock. It was cathartic, yelling out frustration. But John knew that, despite fate pairing them, Sherlock was insecure. John had been his first everything and he believed that acknowledging their love was an unwanted obligation on John’s part. As if John could ever think that Sherlock was a burden. 

 

Okay, if John were completely honest, Sherlock was certainly a handful. He was a high maintenance prince, full of energy and surprises. But John rather enjoyed the thought of maintaining him for the rest of his life and searched for the words to try and convey this sentiment. 

 

He placed a light hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and, upon feeling it tense beneath him, squeezed it gently before returning it to his side. He stayed quiet, letting Sherlock prepare his interrogation. 

 

“I asked you the day we met who broke your heart,” he finally asked after several minutes of silence. 

 

“You did.”

 

“You never answered me.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

Sherlock turned to face him. “Why not?”

 

John figured the best way to proceed was with complete honesty. “Because it hurts not being chosen. It hurts knowing that someone you loved to the depths of your soul didn’t love you nearly as much and chose money over you. Not to mention, it’s incredibly embarrassing to have your arse kicked in front of hundreds of people and for the whole world to know you as a failure.”

 

Sherlock blinked, processing. Then he asked, “do you still love her?”

 

John actually smiled at that. “Don’t be daft.”

 

“I’m serious, John.”

 

“So am I,” John insisted. “I may be a “knightly cliche” as your brother so eloquently put it, but I do know that I only have room for one love at a time in my heart.” He took Sherlock’s hand and felt encouraged that he didn’t flinch away. He placed Sherlock’s hand over his heart and said, “with you in here, there’s no more room for anything, or any _ one, _ else. You take up all the space in every chamber of my heart. I didn’t tell you about Mary because it’s generally not on to talk about your exes when trying to court someone else.”

 

“Court? You wanted to court me? But...why? We’ve already been destined to be together. You’ve “won the prize”, so to speak. Why go the extra mile?”

 

John frowned.  _ Did Sherlock not want to be courted? Did he disdain romance or was he just confused  _ “First off, need I remind you that I didn’t know that I was your true love until last night? Secondly, just because something is meant to be doesn’t mean you stop trying to improve it.” John knew from personal experience that taking things for granted diminishes their shine, their greatness. He never took for granted surviving his childhood or the quests he undertook. But, in retrospect, he might have always assumed Mary would be there when he got back, no matter how long he had been gone or what he had done on his quests. If he hadn’t, then maybe she might have chosen him instead of money. 

 

_ But if she did, then you would never have met him, _ his mind reminded him swiftly. 

 

He pulled Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “I never again want you to doubt my love for you. If that means courting you like every other courtier then I’ll write the poems, bring you the fancy gifts, learn the dances, and go to the parties. If that means telling you every little thing about me, about Mary, then I’ll tell you.” He gazed up at Sherlock, who stared at him in awe. “You want to know all about my previous partners, I’ll tell you as many as I remember.” He clutched Sherlock’s hand tightly, vowing to him, “I’ll tell you about my dreams, my fears, and anything else you could ever want to know about me. Even though our love has been chosen for us I’m still choosing to treasure you and love you as you deserve. Please, don’t ever think that I still hold a candle for Mary when you’re the sun, moon, and stars of my life.”

 

Sherlock gazed on him with glassy eyes and John thought he was near to crying. But before tears could spill over, Sherlock smiled softly and John breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

Sherlock licked his lips and said softly, “I didn’t choose you, either.”

 

“No, you didn’t. But that’s okay, fate did.” John smiled brightly at him and counted it as a personal win that Sherlock’s own smile widened. “I think that’s enough to be going on, don’t you?”

 

“Only a fool argues with the stars,” Sherlock agreed. Then he cocked his head to the side like a puppy and asked, “does this count as our first lovers’ spat?”

 

John chuckled lightly and drew Sherlock close by his waist. “I suppose it does.”

 

“I was led to believe that couples kiss and make up after a quarrel.” 

 

Smirking, John asked, “oh? And who told you that?”

 

“People.”

 

“‘People’, eh?” John tilted his head, an open invitation for Sherlock to meet him halfway. Sherlock accepted it and pressed their lips together in a sweet, firm press. John sighed, content for the moment to just share a kiss, and nothing more, with the man he loved. 

 

But Sherlock had other plans. He walked John backwards, through the sitting room to his bedroom, until the backs of John’s knees hit the bed. John wobbled but grasped Sherlock’s arms to steady himself. The kiss broke and John couldn’t help but grin at the undisguised want in Sherlock’s eyes. He brushed his knuckles across Sherlock’s cheeks and inwardly preened at the resulting shiver they produced. 

 

“What do you want,” John asked.

 

“For you to “woo” me, Sir Knight,” Sherlock replied sarcastically. 

 

John chuckled and said, “is that so?” He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “Wanting some poetry to set the mood? ‘ _ Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and mo- _ mmph!”

 

Sherlock interrupted John’s monologue with a hard press of lips. When John was well and truly distracted from Shakespeare’s inspiration, he whispered against John’s lips, “do leave The Bard to what he does best and get to doing what you do best?”

 

John pulled back to fix him with an amused glimmer, eyebrow crooked and grin lopsided. “And what, exactly, do I do best?”

 

“Kissing me, of course,” Sherlock replied in a tone that made it clear the “obviously” was implied.

 

“Clearly I need to practice my other skills if you think that’s what I do best.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and John decided he’d had enough of his sass for the moment, thank you very much. 

 

Taking him by surprise, John grabbed the front of Sherlock’s doublet and yanked, toppling them both backward with the motion, falling onto the bed. Sherlock sprawled, hands bracketed on either side of him to raise him above John in an attempt not to squish him. But John was having none of that. He possessively curled one hand in the curls at the back of Sherlock’s head and the other flattened along the curve of his back to pull him snugly into his body. He sealed the movement with a kiss that licked greedily into Sherlock’s mouth, catching a delightful moan in his own. 

 

Ensnaring Sherlock further, John bent his knees to hold him in place by his hips as he trailed his still booted heel up the back of Sherlock’s calve. Sherlock squirmed atop him, getting lost in the sensation. Perfectly positioned between John’s legs, he dragged his pelvis against John’s and they both groaned aloud at the pleasurable contact. John let his flattened palm skim further down Sherlock’s back to slide over his arse. He gripped it firmly, pressing Sherlock more forcefully into him as he met him with his own hips. Their kisses grew sloppy and frenzied as they built up a rhythm of rolling their hips into each other like waves crashing against the shore. At times fast and merciless, others soft and lingering. 

 

John grew drunk on it. 

 

He loved the urgent need that came from a grind while still in clothes, and the associated filthy connotations of rumpling a perfectly good outfit. But as much as he loved it, he would never forgive himself if he ruined such fine clothes because he was careless. And if there was ever a better time to show Sherlock just how much he cared about his happiness and pleasure, then John couldn’t think of it. 

 

His fingers carded the curls that brushed against their faces back and pulled away just far enough to be heard clearly. “I want to lay you out on these sheets. Get a proper look at you.”

 

Sherlock nodded, beyond words already, and scooted backwards off the bed. When he lifted his foot to the bed so he could undo the buckles of his boot, John wrapped his hand around the man’s ankle and said, “let me.”

 

“Really, John, I’m perfectly capable-”

 

“I know you are,” John soothed. “But you said for me to do what I do best, yes? Let me show you.”

 

“I fail to see how undressing me is at all arousing,” Sherlock said, staring at him. 

 

John grinned at him.  _ Oh, you have no idea _ , he thought as he stood toe to toe with him. “Why not found out, hmm? You already seem pretty interested in proceeding,” he said, ghosting his knuckles over Sherlock’s straining erection. Sherlock’s sharp gasp of breath was all the confirmation he needed. 

 

John coaxed Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bed before kneeling at his feet. He was sure to affix him with his most alluring stare, eyes on Sherlock’s face as he undid each of Sherlock’s bootstraps by feel alone. Once the boots were loosened, he drew each one off, curling his palm around the arches of Sherlock’s feet to rub briefly before placing them back on the floor. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the petting he received, sighing at the tender touches. Starting at his ankles, John slid his hands up Sherlock’s clothed legs, skimming over his calves. His thumbs moved inwards to stroke up the inside of Sherlock’s thighs and John smiled to feel a slight tremor of anticipation in them. He disregarded the obvious tenting in Sherlock’s trousers and, instead, his thumbs dipped into the crease of his pelvis and progressed upwards until they met Sherlock’s hips. 

 

There, he stopped and just watched as Sherlock tried not to squirm in his grasp. John’s breathing remained even while Sherlock’s hitched slightly. It was intoxicating, seeing him unbalanced but trying to maintain control. John wanted to break it, see him come apart completely. 

 

So, to that end, he leaned in and nosed at Sherlock’s hard cock through his trousers. 

 

Sherlock hissed at the contact, hand immediately coming to cup the back of John’s head. “John,” he rumbled in his deep baritone voice, sending spikes of pleasure straight to John’s dick. 

 

“You wanted to know what’s so arousing about undressing a partner,” John asked, hoping his voice was steady. He dragged his cheek against the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers before kissing the throbbing member beneath. He looked up at him, letting the question drag on until Sherlock couldn’t stand it any longer.

 

“Yes,” he said, eager for John to continue.

 

John let the answer hang between them for a few beats before mouthing along the clothed length in front of him. He breathed out against it, hearing Sherlock bite back a moan. Finally, he said, “it’s the anticipation.” He covered the jutting, covered flesh with his mouth, sucking lightly through the fabric. The tease drew a whine from Sherlock and his fingers brushed John’s cheeks as they rushed to unbutton his doublet. John smiled and let him rid himself of the heavy article but when he tugged the tails of his shirt out of his trousers, he stopped him from pulling it up further. 

 

John was not about to let Sherlock rush ahead without him, but he could follow a lead well enough. 

 

Granting him a small mercy, John slid his palms up Sherlock’s chest under his shirt. He felt the muscles twitch beneath his fingertips, mouth watering at the thought of tasting his skin. He brushed his thumbs across Sherlock’s nipples and watched as Sherlock bit his lip against another moan. John hadn’t had the opportunity to truly explore his lover the night before and, by God, he was determined to put that to rights. 

 

Testing his sensitivity, John rolled Sherlock’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Sherlock’s back arched in pleasure, head dropping back with a pleased hiss. The color rose in his cheeks and his lip glistened with saliva from biting and licking his own lips. At one particularly sharp twist, his mouth hung open, working soundlessly for a few seconds before finding his voice. 

 

“John, you’ve proven your point,” he gasped, trying to maintain control of his breathing. “Just get my clothes off, I want to touch you.”

 

“Have I proven my point?” He latched onto Sherlock’s left nipple through his shirt, sucking the hardened nub between his teeth. 

 

Sherlock arched into him, hands raking through John’s hair and holding him in place. “Yes, yes you have!”

 

Leaving Sherlock’s shirt well moistened, John pulled back to look up at him. He wasn’t desperate quite yet but determined. And John wanted him desperate. Instead of humoring him, John simply laved at Sherlock’s right nipple, heedless of Sherlock’s protesting to still being clothed. Even through his complaining he clutched at John’s head, allowing John to tongue at the pert nub until Sherlock was gasping. 

 

Satisfied that he was moving toward his goal, he sat back on his heels and released Sherlock’s flesh. Finally giving him what he wanted, John deftly removed Sherlock’s shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. Before Sherlock could get it into his head to take anything else off, John surged forward and recaptured Sherlock’s right nipple in his mouth while he toyed with the left one with his fingers. 

 

Sherlock’s fingers gripped John’s hair tightly as he squirmed at the pleasure that overtook him. John pulled off him and blew cool air over the damp flesh and Sherlock’s audible gasp of surprise was intoxicating. 

 

“Ahh, John…”

 

“I love your body, Sherlock. The way it moves under me.” He kissed along Sherlock’s chest and up his neck, rising to his feet so he could bend Sherlock back across the expansive bed. With his legs still planted on the floor, arse perched on the edge of the bed, Sherlock was still so tall that he stretched nearly halfway up the bed. John had to press one knee on the bed just to be able to reach Sherlock’s lips as he lay out over the covers. 

 

Once he was reasonably sure Sherlock wouldn’t try to take matters into his own hands again, John retraced his kisses back down the length of his torso. Down, down, down, he traveled, kissing and licking up the salt of Sherlock’s skin until he reached the waist of his trousers. There, he firmly cupped Sherlock’s cock whilst mouthing his hip bones. 

 

“Nnngh,  _ fuck _ ,” Sherlock moaned, his voice heavy with lust. 

 

“We’ll get there,” John promised, sliding the palm of one hand up and down Sherlock’s torso while the other hand worked open the prince’s trousers. There was a sigh of relief from both men as Sherlock’s cock was freed. John looked upon the hardened flesh with admiration while Sherlock shifted his hips, seeking friction of any kind. John had already gotten a good look at it the night before but seeing it in the light of day, when they could take their time, was something that John savored. 

 

_ Speaking of savoring, _ John thought cheekily. 

 

In one smooth motion John dropped to his knees between Sherlock’s legs and licked his erection from root to tip. Sherlock’s body jerked and twitched, hands coming to grab at his head and shoulders. John’s lips curled into a smile as his tongue swirled around the head of Sherlock’s prick, lapping up his salty, musky flavor. 

 

“Tha- _ ahh _ , that’s good,” Sherlock panted. 

 

“Good? Just good,” John teased before covering his head with his mouth. He sucked at it briefly, pulling a whine from Sherlock.

 

“Why are you still talking? God, don’t stop!”

 

John chuckled and decided to obey. He took Sherlock deeper into his mouth, working about half of his length into his mouth before pulling him back out again to lap at the tip once more. It had been awhile since he had done this but it was just like riding a horse; you never forget how to ride one, no matter how long it’s been. 

 

A few minutes of work and John managed to swallow the whole length of Sherlock down and could hold him comfortably in his mouth. John inwardly preened with pride as he watched what his ministrations did to Sherlock. He had abandoned John’s hair to tug at his own, one arm flung over his face as he tried desperately not to buck up into John’s mouth. John gave him his all, humming around him and fondling his balls in an effort to wring pleasure from every cell of him. He loved hearing the sounds Sherlock made while he sucked and licked at him. He made note of how Sherlock keened any time John sucked with harder pressure at his head, how his hips squirmed if he tongued at the bundle of nerves just below it. He noticed that if he took Sherlock to the hilt that Sherlock’s thighs would tense in preparation for thrusting. 

 

_ I could do this all day, every day, until the end of fucking time, _ John thought, swallowing around Sherlock. 

 

But, all too soon, Sherlock was tugging at John’s hair in warning. “John, I’m- I’m going to-”

 

John pulled off, earning a whine from Sherlock. “Do it, Sherlock. I want to taste you.”

 

Before John could resume his activities, Sherlock propped himself up to look at John with confusion. John held off, knowing that a question was coming. 

“But what about you,” Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

 

“What about me, love?”

 

“Don’t you want to,” Sherlock gestured at John’s whole person, “get undressed at least?”

 

“We’ll get to me,” John promised. 

 

“But don’t you want-”

 

“What I want,” John interrupted with an impossibly soft kiss to Sherlock’s prick. “Is for you to lay back, let me put you back in my mouth, and suck you until you burst on my tongue. Then, when you’re ready, you can do whatever you’d like to me.” He flicked his tongue quickly over Sherlock’s frenulum and added, “we don’t both have to be getting touched for us to both be enjoying ourselves.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, John dove back in, taking Sherlock to the root. There was a gasp and sigh as Sherlock fell back fully on the bed. John doubled his efforts, wanting Sherlock to come on his tongue, to paint the inside of his mouth. He wanted to feel Sherlock writhe as he rode out his orgasm beneath him. 

 

It didn’t take long after John’s assurance for Sherlock to be brought to the brink again. Sherlock’s whole body thrummed with need, his moans became more needy, and his hands fluttered around them before settling one in John’s hair and the other across his own face. Words like “please”, “yes”, and “god, John”, fell from his lips like rainfall and when he finally let himself go it was with a shout. 

 

John had been prepared for it and groaned as Sherlock’s cock pulsed against his tongue. He swallowed around the bitter, salty tang, gently sucking around Sherlock as his orgasm took him. When it was over, John gently pulled off him and looked up from his kneeling position to see Sherlock’s chest rapidly falling and rising with exertion. Smiling to himself, John tugged Sherlock’s trousers off the rest of the way, leaving them crumpled on the floor to lay next to Sherlock on the bed. 

 

Sherlock shivered atop the covers but seemed reluctant to move beneath them. John pulled him close, ignoring his own erection for the time being, so he could press a kiss to his hot forehead. At length, Sherlock demanded that they move under the covers. Chuckling, John moved to comply when Sherlock stopped him.

 

“If you think you’re climbing into my bed with boots on, you are sorely mistaken.”

 

John laughed. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to undress myself?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said simply, not bothering to emphasize. Shaking his head and grinning, John did as he was told, and in a hot minute, he was under the covers nakedly spooning a spent Sherlock. 

 

John basked in Sherlock’s afterglow, his erection slowly receding. He was perfectly content to keep holding Sherlock, convinced the man had fallen asleep. He had fully relaxed, long gone flaccid and thinking of a nap, himself, when he stirred in John’s arms. He mouthed lazily at John’s chest, filling him with heavy, warm affection.

 

“John,” he said softly. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I want to try that.”

 

“Try what?”

 

“What you just did. With your mouth.”

 

John smiled. “You want to suck me off?”

 

Sherlock blushed. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

 

John looked down at him, snuggled as he was into his shoulder. His smile was shy, eyes half lidded with long lashes slowly blinking at him. He looked so beautiful, in that moment, eagerness warring with patience. How could John deny him anything? 

 

“I don’t mind,” John told him. 

 

Grinning and suddenly full of energy, Sherlock crawled over him, pressing John into the mattress with a hard kiss before settling between his legs. John put his hands under his head and spread his legs comfortably, giving Sherlock plenty of room and time to get acquainted with his cock. Sherlock stared down at John’s soft prick, analyzing it visually before gently sliding his hand under it to hold it. His hand was warm as he cupped John, testing his weight. His touches sent his nerves stirring and his cock began to fill the more Sherlock prodded at him. At first, Sherlock squeezed at him, coaxing his prick back into hardness. It was a slow build, a lazy climb that had John sighing softly and stretching languidly. 

 

When he was at half mast, Sherlock changed his tactic from squeezing to long, slow strokes. The more he stroked, the harder John grew until he was as hard as iron. 

 

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed out, warm air ghosting over his cock. 

 

“Mmm,” John replied, non-committally. 

 

Sherlock’s thumb rolled across the tip, smearing the bead of precome that pearled up. John bit his lip, keeping still so as not to rush Sherlock’s exploring of him. He remembered what it had been like to be new to sex; curiosity and eagerness warring inside him. He’ll not urge Sherlock any faster than necessary. For now, he was happy to lie back and just enjoy. He closed his eyes, letting sensation gently lap at him like waves on the shore. Each stroke, each puff of breath ramping him up incrementally. 

 

Then Sherlock’s tongue lapped in a timid taste. John sucked in a sharp breath, stomach tightening in surprise. The tongue disappeared and John’s eyes opened wide. Propped on his forearms, he stared down at Sherlock who looked at him with concern. 

 

“Did I do it wrong?”

 

John shook his head. “No, no, you did that right. Just surprised me is all.”

 

Sherlock smiled. “I told you I was going to do it, didn’t I?”

 

“You did. I just wasn’t prepared for it.” He settled back down, this time with his eyes on Sherlock, and asked, “try it again?”

 

Sherlock nodded and bent forward again to lick once more at the head of John’s cock. John, more prepared the second time around, let his gasp out more gently. Encouraged that he was doing well, Sherlock licked him again before sealing his lips around the head of John’s penis.

 

“Oh, yes,” John sighed. He clenched his hands in the pillow under his head to keep them out of Sherlock’s hair. He’d love to feel those silky curls between his fingers but he didn’t want to startle him or guide him in anyway for his first time. His fingers curled tighter into the pillow when Sherlock bobbed his head, taking him in just a little deeper, sucking a few centimeters into his mouth. He moaned, loving the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth as his tongue stroked over him. 

 

Sherlock pulled off with a wet pop and John had to bite his lip to suppress a groan of disappointment. He was prepared to tell Sherlock that it was okay, he didn’t need to get off that way, when he was shocked by Sherlock taking almost the whole length of him in his mouth. 

 

“God,  _ fuck _ , Sherlock,” John cried. If it weren’t for Sherlock’s hands on his hips, John was certain he’d have fucked up into Sherlock’s mouth and choked him. And fuck, if that wasn’t a delightful thought. 

 

Sherlock pulled off him, sucking in a lungful of air. “That’s a lot harder than it looks,” he said, licking his lips. 

 

John giggled. “That’s what she said.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but giggle, though he tried to stop it. Pressing his face into John’s thigh, he tried to control himself. “Stop it, John! This is serious!” 

 

“Oh, so serious. Like the plague,” John agreed. 

 

Sherlock raised his head and stared John down. His gaze might have held more weight if his cheeks weren’t pink from laughter as they were. But nevertheless, he managed to sober enough to try again. 

 

This time, as he slipped John back into his mouth, he slid him in slower. John watched as he eased his way down, inch by inch, until he could go no further. John hit the back of Sherlock’s throat and the last few inches were covered by Sherlock’s hand. The inside of Sherlock’s mouth was all delicious heat and John was enveloped in it. 

 

Sherlock worked him over, bobbing his and alternating between long sucks and licks to various spots on his cock. He replicated some of the moves John had performed on him, flicking at his frenulum and laving his tongue in broad strokes from root to tip. His hands stroked in time with his mouth, sliding up when his mouth pulled up and moving down when Sherlock dove back down. He was a quick study, and soon had brought John to the edge, moaning and straining against his urge to thrust up into Sherlock’s mouth. 

 

“Sherlock,” John warned, “Sherlock, I’m close.”

 

Sherlock pulled off him, lips shiny with saliva, and continued to stroke him. He stared up at John, hand working over him as his tongue worked at his frenulum. He didn’t let up until, finally, with a bitten off curse, John was coming into Sherlock’s hand and all over his stomach. He was still gasping when he felt Sherlock’s tongue lap at the pool of come on his stomach. John’s stomach jerked as he giggled. 

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?”

 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “It’s not my favorite flavor, I must confess.” 

 

“Go get a towel,” John told him, still euphoric from his orgasm. Sherlock did as requested and soon, John was pulling Sherlock down for another cuddle. When his breathing had evened out he asked, “so how did you like that?”

 

“I can see why you enjoy it. It’s fascinating to watch your face while being pleasured.” He kissed John’s cheek. “It’s so expressive.” 

 

John smiled, nuzzling into Sherlock’s hair. “I’m glad to amuse you.” He pulled the comforter up and said, “now quiet you. I fancy a nap before more food and another shag.”

 

“Another? Are you an animal,” Sherlock said with mock horror.

 

“Mmm, yes. Like a dog with a bone,” he said, rolling them onto their sides so John could spoon up against Sherlock’s back. “Arooo,” he said in his best impression of a hound, snuffling into the back of his neck. “After all, it could be quite some time before we get to enjoy a nice bed like this. You may get your wish of being fucked in the woods.” 

 

“One can only hope,” Sherlock replied. 

  
After their laughter died down and their bodies settled into restful poses, they slipped off to sleep content in each other’s arms. 


	2. Chapter 2

When John and Sherlock awoke from their short nap, they had another lazy romp in the sheets. They stroked each other to orgasm, kissing and breathing each other’s air as they came together. Neither really wanted to get out of bed but John knew he needed to get in touch with Greg so they could fill him in on what had happened that morning. 

 

He looked down at the top of Sherlock’s rumpled head as he laid on John’s chest, idling drawing patterns into his skin with his fingertips. He dragged his fingertips up Sherlock’s back and said, “we have to get up.”

 

Sherlock made a complaining whine. “Nooooooo, comfy here.”

 

John grinned and playfully spanked Sherlock’s arse. “Come on, Greg’s probably wondered where the hell his employer’s gone off to.”

 

“Shall I send a note?  _ ‘So sorry to inform you that your employer, Sir John Watson, has unfortunately perished. He succumbed to a terrible case of “Lusts of the Flesh” and has died of starvation from fucking too much’.” _

 

John laughed heartily, hiding his grin in Sherlock’s hair. “He might just believe that. Now,” with a groan, he rolled Sherlock off him. “Come on, we’ve got to get moving. I promise to ravish you more this evening.”

 

John was making his way to the foot of the bed to collect his clothes when Sherlock’s voice stopped him. “Promises, promises,” Sherlock groused, stretching on the bed.

 

“Hey now,” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s ankle and tugging him towards the foot of the bed. An indignant squawk brought a grin to John’s face and soon he was faced with a ruffled prince. He asked him, “now when have I never followed through on something, hmm?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, there was that one time with those bandits where you said-” 

 

At a stern quirk of John’s eyebrow, Sherlock rethought that train of thought and, instead, said, “Point taken.”

 

“Good.” John released the man’s ankle and leaned over on the bed to kiss Sherlock’s swollen lips. “Now, get dressed and let’s see if we can’t find my squire.”

 

It didn’t take them long to get dressed and head down to the servants quarters. There, they found Greg relaxing in the small courtyard where the launderers hung the washing. He was laid out in the grass, sun shining on his face, looking as if he were taking a nap. Though, at their approach, he cracked an eye open. 

 

“Well, well, well. Look who’s come to grace me with their presence.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sod off, Greg,” John said, offering an hand to help Greg up. “How have you been enjoying this wealth of free time?”

 

“Immensely,” Greg answered with a smile. He took one look at the smiling men and said, “I see you two have been taking advantage of time off the road.”

 

They both blushed and Sherlock averted his gaze. He crossed his arms and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Greg chuckled and clapped them both on the back. “No need to be embarrassed. I’ve seen John’s “just got shagged” look too many times to count. You’ve been busy in my absence. Good. Maybe you’ll give me some peace, then, when we’re on the road.”

 

John snorted in amusement. “Wouldn’t count on that.”

 

Sherlock looked scandalized and Greg groaned in disgust. “We’re getting two tents. No discussion about it.”

 

“Since when are  _ you _ calling the shots?”

 

“Are you really going to complain about having the extra space or semblance of privacy,” Greg asked. John grumbled under his breath and Greg said, “that’s what I thought.” He clapped his hands together and said, “now, why don’t we go get us a pint and you can fill me in on what’s been going on?”

 

Not long later, the three of them were set up in a pub just outside the palace with a tankard each. After a quick taste of the ale, and finding it acceptable, Greg asked, “so, what’s the next step for us, then?”

 

“I’ve accepted my brother’s quest to bring down Moriarty. In exchange, he’s going to advocate for the dissolution of my betrothal to Irene Adler of Belgravia,” Sherlock told him. He sniffed the brew in front of him with a small amount of distaste. After a swallow and grimace, he added, “it’s my stipulation for accepting the quest.” 

 

John blinked, looking between Greg and Sherlock, wondering if Sherlock would be the one to broach the subject of their changed relationship status. While it had been blatantly obvious that John and Sherlock fancied each other, it was hard to deny even if he wanted to after Greg finding them in the woods just days earlier, there hadn’t been any real conversation about it. Sure, they had gotten their heads out of their arses and made their declarations. Sure, John had met the family and Mycroft at least seemed to approve. But they hadn’t exactly gone out and hired the town crier to shout “hear ye, hear ye! John Watson beds gorgeous prince Sherlock Holmes after the pair pledge undying love and faithfulness!”

 

Did Sherlock want to go telling people just yet? Did John? On the one hand, the idea of screaming from the nearest mountaintop that he had the heart of the most brilliant and sexy man in the world had its appeal. But John loved the intimate beginnings of a new relationship, the secret moments that kept one warm at night. Telling people so quickly would take away some of that intimacy and John didn’t want to rush through that with Sherlock. But with Sherlock being a prince, could it be helped either way? John wasn’t sure. So, instead of putting his two cents in about his relief in Sherlock’s betrothal soon being terminated, he just took a swallow of beer and kept silent. 

 

“Well that’s helpful,” Greg said thoughtfully. He took another swallow and asked his next question. “What about us helping you out on the quest?”

 

“I’m making an official request at court tomorrow morning,” John replied. 

 

“Think you’ll be granted your request,” Greg asked.

 

“With my brother behind us, almost certainly. If he fails to sway my parents then I’ll plead on John’s behalf. After all, can’t leave without him.” He turned a fond look on John and said, “I’d be lost without my knight.”

 

John returned Sherlock’s smile and placed a hand on his thigh. His body yearned to lean forward and kiss him but a disgusted groan from Greg distracted them both.

 

“Ugh, god, you two are disgusting. Did you not get enough of each other last night?”

 

“Nope,” John said, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. “That’s why we had to have each other twice today.”

 

Greg pulled a face and washed it down with beer. “Sinners, the pair of you.”

 

“Yup,” Sherlock said, popping the “P” at the end. 

 

“So you two are…” 

 

John and Sherlock turned to eye Greg, finding him gesturing between the two of them. “You two are a thing now?”

 

John turned a hesitant eye to Sherlock, silently pleading with him to take the lead on the conversation. A beat of silence and Sherlock seemed to come to a decision. He held John’s hand under the table and said, “considering we’ve gone and shared declarations of love, it’s a safe bet.”

 

Greg reached across the table and clapped John on the shoulder. “About damn time. You two dancing around each other was getting unbearable.” John grinned and ducked his head to hide it. 

 

After that, the three fell into casual conversation as if nothing had changed. There was loud shouting and bickering and laughter as well as food and drink. Sherlock insisted on charging their dinner to the palace, as part of their reward for bringing him home. 

 

“But you didn’t even want to come home,” Greg shouted in surprise. 

 

“No, I didn’t,” Sherlock agreed. His eyes met John’s across the table and he smiled. “But I’m happy to be home, nonetheless.”

 

Greg complained loudly about their making doe-eyes at each other and demanded they leave him in peace. They left the pub and walked together back to the palace. Arm in arm, John and Sherlock swayed into each other, giggling as they bumped into each other. 

 

“You two are no better than children,” Greg said, laughing. 

 

“Oh shut it, Greg,” Sherlock said, uncaring. John laughed aloud, and pressed himself in closer to Sherlock as they walked. When they finally made it back to the palace, Greg made his way back to the servants quarters and Sherlock took John’s hand, practically dragging him towards the royal family’s quarters. 

 

John followed, enjoying the sight of Sherlock’s arse in front of him. God, how he wanted that arse. Their previous encounters, while lovely and fulfilling, had been all hands and mouths and none of the primal rutting that John often craved. And _ oh, _ how he craved it now with Sherlock. 

 

Having had just enough to drink, John felt bold. He planted his feet and tugged Sherlock to a stop before they had gone too far. 

 

“What’re you dragging your feet for,” Sherlock whispered, irritated with the delay.

 

“I’m having a thought.”

 

“A momentous occasion, I’m sure,” Sherlock said, tugging more insistently.

 

“Oi, prick,” John said, tugging back and pulling Sherlock close so that he could press their bodies together. He turned them so Sherlock’s back was pressed against the wall and he relished the feeling of Sherlock’s warm body against him. 

 

“What if I told you I wanted something,” John said, mouthing up the long column of Sherlock’s neck.

 

Sherlock swallowed and turned his head to give John access. “I’d say that it was fairly obvious.”

 

John hummed, kissing lightly and nuzzling into Sherlock’s warm skin. “Do you know what I want, Sherlock? Tell me,” he licked the man’s earlobe and savored the resulting shiver. “What do I want.”

 

Sherlock panted, hands grasping John’s hips. “You want sex.”

 

“Well spotted.” John licked up Sherlock’s neck to his jaw, nibbling the soft flesh there. “Anything more specific?” To help him in his deductions, John slid his hands down Sherlock’s sides until they slid around to cup his pert bottom. John squeezed Sherlock’s arse cheeks, eliciting a gasp and a moan. “Any guesses?”

 

Sherlock nodded and said, “you want to fuck me.”

 

“I do,” John admitted shamelessly. “Is that something you’d like to try?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock confessed. “I’ve never...done anything like that. To myself, I mean.”

 

John looked up from Sherlock’s neck to find him blushing furiously, averting his eyes. John smiled, loving the fact that he was the one who could give Sherlock every new experience he would ever have. It was a heady feeling and one that John cherished. He reached up on his tiptoes and said into Sherlock’s ear, “we don’t have to do anything unless you’re absolutely certain. I would love to open you up and sink inside you, feeling every inch of you from the inside out.” He kissed him lightly, feeling Sherlock chase after his lips when he pulled away. “I would love to feel you tight and hot around me,” he thrust his hips slowly, experimentally, and felt Sherlock’s gasp more than he heard it. 

 

“Or perhaps you’d like to bugger me, instead, hmm?” Sherlock gasped and his nails dug into the fabric shielding John’s shoulder. “Would you like that? Take control of the situation, meter out our pleasure as you see fit? Drive me mad on your cock?” John was certainly drunk if he was letting such words fall from his lips. But judging from Sherlock’s unrestrained whine of need, it was well received. “I wonder which you would prefer? Are you the kind of lover who wants to take, to consume, merciless and yet gracious in your love? Or are you the kind of lover who accepts with open, greedy arms anything I want to give you? Will you beg or demand?” He licked at Sherlock’s ear and tasted the resulting shiver thick on his tongue. “I long to find out, Sherlock. 

 

Sensing Sherlock’s trouble in concentrating and articulating, John took mercy on him and drew back. Sherlock’s keen of displeasure warmed John immensely, giving him hope of such activities in the future. But tonight, he would not make him think through it. He kissed Sherlock soundly and said, “but only if and when you’re ready. Think on it later,” John told him. “Right now, I think you were taking me to bed.”

 

That snapped Sherlock out of his thoughts enough to push him into action. Fire replaced uncertainty in his eyes and he growled, “yes,” before dragging John back to his rooms. 

 

Another night of stroking hands, eager mouths, and writhing bodies had John in incandescent bliss. He lay next to Sherlock when it was all over in complete disbelief that his life had lead him into the heart and bed of a prince who loved and craved him just as deeply. The fact that he had, quite accidentally, found his missing piece was almost absurd. As Sherlock slept, face mashed into John’s chest and mouth open, John looked on with adoration. He stared longer than was probably socially acceptable and, after a lot of mental wrenching, he managed to close his eyes and fall asleep himself. 

 

 

\~*~/

 

 

The next morning saw John standing in attendance of the royal court as Mycroft appealed for Sherlock’s release. 

 

“My King and Queen, I have here in my hands, an official request to terminate the betrothal of William Sherlock Scott Holmes to Irene Adler of Belgravia.”

 

“Under what grounds,” the queen asked. 

 

“Under the grounds of potential loss of life and irreconcilable differences. With the acceptance of the quest to find and destroy Moriarty and any evil plans he may be concocting, he may in the process lose his life. He wishes to spare Princess Irene the official mourning period if this occurs.” He began to pace in front of the thrones the king and queen occupied and continued. “As for the irreconcilable differences, Sherlock is still adamant that he will marry only for love, not for matters of state.”

 

The king and queen shared a look and at length, the king said, “and what can we offer Belgravia in place of a marriage to bind our two kingdoms?”

 

Mycroft then proceeded to propose his exchange idea. At length, he detailed the logic and the practicality behind the switch and assured the king and queen that they would be able to come to an amicable agreement with Belgravia. 

 

“It is my understanding,” Mycroft told them, “that while Princess Irene enjoys Sherlock’s company very much, she would not be heartbroken over their betrothal ending. She also, it seems, enjoys the notion of marrying for love and wishes to find it for herself.”

 

_ Nice touch, _ John thought.  _ Almost sentimental. _

 

The two rulers had a silent conversation that consisted entirely of looks until, finally, the king spoke. “We accept your proposal. We will contact Belgravia immediately to work out an amicable means of releasing Sherlock from his contract.”

 

John felt like whooping for joy at their decision. But they still had a ways to go if they were to accomplish their goal of ending up together, so he kept a tight rein on his hope. 

 

John was last on the list for audiences with the king and queen. He listened with half an ear as people asked for everything from a place in the household and at court to help with settling local disputes. By the time it was his turn, John was practically vibrating with nerves and the need for action. When his name was called, he held himself tall and proud and presented himself to the king and queen. 

 

Walking up to the dais, John bowed deeply before taking a knee in the most humble way he knew how. Only then, did he address them. 

 

“King and Queen Holmes, it is an honor to be granted an audience with you on such short notice.”

 

“Well, it seemed only appropriate. Seeing as you were the one to bring our Sherlock home,” the queen said evenly. 

 

“Not to mention that lovely breakfast yesterday morning,” the king added. A stern look from the queen had the king replacing his smile with a frown and shutting up. 

 

“What is it you can to see us about, Sir John,” the queen asked.

 

“I wish to join Sherlock’s quest to destroy Moriarty. I wish to help protect him as he rids the kingdom from the foul shadow of Moriarty’s evil deeds.” 

 

“How noble,” the queen said, boredom evident in her voice. “And why are you willing to risk your life on this quest? Do you not have any other pressing matters to attend to than babysitting our son?”

 

“Mother,” Sherlock groused from his position beside the thrones.

 

“Hush, Sherlock,” the queen chided. “Answer the question.”

 

John licked his lips and thought,  _ here goes nothing. _

 

“I confess, I’ve grown fond of Sherlock while he was in my charge. And, knowing he is about to embark on a dangerous feat of bravery, I wish to help protect him from any harm while he’s on this quest.”

 

“And what would you ask for in return? Surely you’re not offering out of the goodness of your heart?”

 

Suddenly, John had a moment of inspiration. He looked at Mycroft and then at Sherlock, weighing his options. The silence fell around them and he could see apprehension in Sherlock’s eyes. John was never a gambling man with things that truly mattered. Money, drink, petty possessions, and occasionally his life, sure. But never with his heart. He looked at the king and queen and knew what he had to do to make them see his truly. 

 

He put his fist over his heart and said, “nothing.”

 

Silence and gasps from the court, including Sherlock. He silently pleaded  _ trust me, just trust me. _

 

“Nothing,” the king asked, amused.

 

“Nothing. I ask out of love for Prince Sherlock, and nothing more, to be allowed to share in this quest with him.” He looked up at the rulers and added, “the assured safety and success of Prince Sherlock is its own reward.”

 

The king smiled and looked at his queen, whose face was hard to decipher. After a moment, the queen spoke. “He makes quite an impression, our son.”

 

“He does, Your Majesty.”

 

“Usually a bad one.”

 

John chuckled and nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, measuring him from afar. “And yet you would willingly put yourself in danger for him? A man who has been known for his dramatics and sour mood.”

 

“Mother,” Sherlock complained.

 

“You know it’s true, Sherlock. Don’t deny it.” She eyed John once more and said, “are you sure, Sir John, that you want to be part of this quest for no personal gain? Only for the ensured survival of the Prince and nothing more?”

 

John nodded, sincerely. “I do.”

 

The queen hummed in thought and said, “we’ll need to discuss this further.” She called for the royal bailiff and had him dismiss the court. When it was empty, except for the royal family, she said, “shall we retire to someplace a little less formal?” Without waiting for a reply, she was out of her chair and walking out the door towards the royal quarters. 

 

The family and John followed behind her and in no time at all they were ensconced in her private parlour. She called for tea and they all sat silently while they waited for it to arrive. John’s heart hammered in his chest as they sat, waiting for their tea. He kept looking over at Sherlock and Mycroft for some clue as to how much trouble he had landed them in with his stunt in court. But, with both Holmes brothers silent and stone-faced, no one was forthcoming with any clues. So, in anguish, John sat. Only when they all had a delicate china cup in their hands, did the queen speak. 

 

“I wonder how long you three would have kept up this little game of yours before asking for what you all really want,” she said before taking a taste of her tea. 

 

John’s hand stuttered, splashing tea over the rim of his cup. Sherlock stiffened in shock. Mycroft simply asked, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Do you think we’re stupid, daft, or otherwise incapable of seeing what’s in front of our very eyes, boys?”

 

The three younger men shared a look and unanimously agreed to let Mycroft take the lead. “You’ll have to elaborate, mother.”

 

“We know what really brought Sherlock back,” the queen said gently. 

 

“Yes, John did,” Sherlock supplied cryptically.

 

“Don’t try to pull one over on your mother, Sherlock,” the king said with a chuckle. “It didn’t work when you were children and it won’t work now.”

 

“We know that a kiss was meant to wake you, dear.”

 

“So John kissed me,” Sherlock confessed. “And?”

 

“And we know that only true love could wake you.”

 

John gaped openly while Sherlock and Mycroft only blanched. The king and queen chuckled at their faces and shared an amused look. After a moment of composure on all sides, the queen explained. “Mycroft, it was obvious when you had each of us try to wake him when you first found him. We’ve all read the fairytales. I read them to you both myself.” She looked directly at Sherlock and said, “where do you think he got the idea in the first place?”

 

“You knew, all this time,” Mycroft whispered in disbelief. “And you decided to keep that to yourself all this time?”

 

“We had faith that you would find a solution, Mycroft,” the king assured. “You worked tirelessly to find a way to wake your brother and we had every confidence that you would succeed. In one way or another.”

 

“So you know then what John and I truly want,” Sherlock interjected. “At the end of the quest,” he specified.

 

“We assume that you two would like to legitimize yourselves,” the queen supplied. 

 

“Hang on,” John said, growing irritated with the whole Holmes family. “If you knew right from the second Sherlock came home what we mean to each other, then why’d you let us go on like that in court? Why not just hold a private meeting and be done with it? Not to mention that breakfast yesterday? I’ve had warmer greetings from-”

 

The queen levelled a stern look at him and John shrank back, feeling foolish for his outburst. He may not be a complete coward but everyone had their limits. Sherlock, seeing his distress, put his hand over John’s to soothe him. 

 

“We wanted to see what caliber of person you were. You may be destined for our son but that doesn’t mean that you were a person of quality. We expect any partner of our heirs to have tact, poise, discretion and, above all, class.” Her frown turned to a smile. “And while you’re not highborn, I can see that there is something special about you. Asking to keep Sherlock safe on his quest, for nothing in return, is something we had not expected. True bravery and selflessness, were things we did not truly anticipate from a legend as far reaching as yours. Stories rarely paint a true picture of a hero’s character. Seeing it firsthand in your display this morning, we’re pleased to see that some of what we heard is accurate.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, “though improving your tact might be an area to work on.”

 

Chagrined, John blushed and ducked his head. “Apologies, Your Majesties.”

 

The queen waved a dismissive hand at him and said, “no apologies needed.” She wordlessly held out her cup for a servant to refill her tea and said, “now, there’s the small matter of what to do with you two.” She turned to Mycroft and said, “Mycroft, dear, you will proceed with negotiations with Belgravia.”

 

“It will be one of my highest priorities,” Mycroft assured her. 

 

“Good.” She turned to Sherlock. “You will meet with your old instructors and get a brush up on your fighting skills. And you will meet with Mrs. Hudson before you leave here, is that understood?”

 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, mother.”

 

“Good. You will also talk with Captain Donovan. She will outfit you with whatever you need for your upcoming quest. Escort you, if necessary.” Sherlock and Mycroft agreed to her conditions and she seemed satisfied. Lastly, she turned to John who, quite frankly, was still shocked with having had the rug pulled from under him. “And you, Sir John, will make an honest man out of our Sherlock when you both return from this quest.”

 

Sherlock choked on his tea and John nearly dropped his. Too unnerved to say anything in reply, John simply nodded and said, “of course, Your Majesty.”

 

“Good.” She smiled and raised her china to her lips, enjoying her tea in earnest. “Now that that’s sorted, we haven’t had time to really visit with our son or get to know his intended. So, Sir John, tell us a bit about yourself.”

 

And so the afternoon went by, with John making nice with the future in-laws and Sherlock curiously quieter than usual. Their afternoon tea was as different from their breakfast the previous morning as night and day. They engaged cheerfully, offering questions, answers, and comments. Sherlock, this time, remained mostly silent, answering and giving commentary when asked. Instead of conversing, he watched John and his parents, measuring the feel of the room until the king and queen had to attend to their other matters of state. It was well into the afternoon when the three men were released and when the doors closed behind them they were still reeling. 

 

John was the first to break the silence. “Well...that was unexpected.”

 

“Quite,” Mycroft replied.

 

“I haven’t seen them that chummy since...I can’t recall, even,” Sherlock said, astounded. He whipped his head to John and said, “clearly you have  _ some  _ magic in you! You cast some sort of spell on them! They adored you.”

 

John smiled shyly and shrugged. “Parents have always liked me,” he said, by way of explanation.

 

“Clearly,” Mycroft said. He straightened his doublet and said, “well, I must be off. Duty calls. I expect you two to begin making arrangements. I want you to set out by the end of this week.”

 

“Who died and made you king of my life,” Sherlock said, snappily. 

 

“No one, yet,” Mycroft replied crisply. “Better hope that day doesn’t come too soon, either.” He looked between his brother and John and said, “I trust you have everything under control but, all the same, do come to me should you need my assistance. I’ll be checking on your progress throughout the week.” 

 

And with that, he walked away, leaving John and Sherlock alone. 

 

John was about to ask what they were to do next but apparently “mind reading” was on the list of magical abilities Sherlock possessed.  “I suppose it’s time to go and have a chat with Mrs. Hudson.”

 

Sherlock turned on his heel and walked quickly in the opposite direction Mycroft had taken, leaving John scrambling to catch up.  _ Bloody giraffe, _ John groused internally. 

 

“Who is Mrs. Hudson?”

 

“Delightful woman. My old nursemaid and governess. Later, when I moved onto formal tutors, she stayed on as my private physician. Much to the consternation of the court physician. The man was undoubtedly talented in the healing arts but Mrs. Hudson is clearly better and he despised her because of her sex. Was always trying to find new ways to remove her from our employ, insisting that the “weaker sex” didn’t have the skills to treat royalty.”

 

“And yet she stayed on, clearly. What convinced your parents to keep her on?”

 

“Aside from my insistence on the matter?” John nodded affirmatively and Sherlock said, “she saved him from certain death when a fever swept through the kingdom one summer. After she brought him back from the brink, he had no choice but to concede or leave.”

 

“Smart man,” John said, falling in step beside Sherlock. 

 

“He can be. Some of the time,” Sherlock agreed with a smirk.

 

In no time at all, they were entering what served as the quarters and offices of Martha Hudson. The walls were decorated in light pastels, white porcelain and comfy looking benches and chairs. A privacy screen stood half folded and when they entered her office an adjoining door opened and out came an older woman wearing dark purple and black, cooing happily at Sherlock’s appearance.

 

“Oh, Sherlock, love! It’s been an age, hasn’t it,” the woman said, holding her arms open for a hug.

 

Sherlock returned her smile and dutifully bent to fit into the shorter woman’s arms. “It has. I’m happy to see that Dr. Chilton didn’t run you out of here while I was away.”

 

The woman chuckled and pinched his cheek. “Cheeky. You haven’t changed a bit.” She noticed John standing behind him and she slapped Sherlock’s shoulder playfully. “Oh dear, you let me go on and you didn’t even introduce me to your friend. Did you forget everything I taught you at my knee, Sherlock Holmes?”

 

“Of course not.” He took the woman’s hand and said proudly, “Sir John Watson, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Martha Hudson. Personal physician and housekeeper when necessary.”

 

Mrs. Hudson shook a finger at him and said sternly, “not your housekeeper, dear.”

 

“Of course not,” Sherlock said dismissively and John had to work to hide his smile. Clearly, that had been an ongoing argument that neither seemed to win. 

 

Mrs. Hudson dropped a quick curtsy and John bowed in return. Then recognition seemed to dawn and she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She turned to Sherlock and said, “wait a minute, this can’t be  _ the _ Sir John from the stories, can it?!”

 

Sherlock beamed proudly. “He is indeed.”

 

John confirmed it, “guilty as charged.”

 

“But what are you doing here in Poshville? Are you on a quest? Embarking on some new and fantastic adventure?”

 

“Indeed he is,” Sherlock told her. “He’s going to be assisting me.”

 

“Assisting...don’t tell me that  _ you’re _ going on a quest!”

 

“Alright, I won’t,” Sherlock said, striding over to a window to look out nonchalantly. 

 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson said warningly.

 

“Yes, yes, alright, I’ve got a quest.”

 

“Oh Sherlock, you’re going to run my nerves ragged. Worrying over you these last two years has been nothing but torment.” 

 

Sherlock ducked his head slightly in contrition and took her hand and kissed it. John was consistently in awe at Sherlock’s behavior toward people that most royalty would consider beneath him. Polite, jovial, patient, treating them almost as equals. It was a far cry from the way he had often been treated by royalty and it consistently threw him through a loop whenever Sherlock showed tenderness towards commoners. 

 

“Apologies, Mrs. Hudson. Rest your nerves for now, for I am doing quite well. In fact,” Sherlock said, whirling away from her to sit on a chair, “I am here for a check up.”

 

“Of course, dear.” She took two steps towards him before stopping and said, “John, perhaps you better wait outside.”

 

“John stays,” Sherlock said with authority.

 

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock in surprise. “Sherlock, as a prince, you should be more careful with who-”

 

“John is to be my husband,” Sherlock said, cutting her off.

 

A shocked gasp escaped her and her hand came up to cover it once more. “Whatever do you mean? What’s happened to Irene?”

 

“I promise to tell you everything while you do what you do, Mrs. Hudson.” He waved John over to a nearby seat and said, “John, take a seat. This could take awhile.”

 

\~*~/

 

 

It did, in fact, take a while. It was sunset before Mrs. Hudson finally cleared them to leave. The exam hadn’t taken long at all, Sherlock being surprisingly healthy for a man who spent two years in a coma and then almost two weeks on the road. However, Mrs. Hudson kept them way longer than either expected, examining John as well, and then chatting with them about all that Sherlock had missed in his time away. She filled him in on the palace gossip, laughing and joking with the prince until John’s stomach growled, signaling dinnertime for the lot of them. She hugged them both and shooed them out of her office so that she might start working on a whole slew of items that she would insist on them taking with them on the quest. 

 

“One could never be too careful out on the road, boys,” she insisted. They agreed, of course, and were unceremoniously ushered out and told in no uncertain terms to eat and then go to bed so they could get an early start. 

 

The rest of the week was a blur of preparations. Together, John and Sherlock trained with Donovan and her guards, whipping themselves into shape. Sherlock admitted, begrudgingly, that he had definitely lost muscle mass and strength while he slept. John admitted, just as begrudgingly, that he too was not in the best shape he could be in for being a knight. Donovan laughed at their pains and made them run more laps around the castle to break them back into the routine of exercise. John felt like he was a child again, squiring for older knights, learning his trade with the other boys and bulking up. As a shorter man, he had learned that the key to his success what compact and deceptive strength rather than intimidation. He used this to his advantage during sparring, knocking more than one guard on their arse. 

 

Sherlock, it seemed, was having to relearn much more than how to swing a sword. His footwork needed constant guidance, which John was more than willing to provide with a helping hand upon the prince’s hips. He whinged at having to spar and tried to reason with Donovan that he could just as well use his magic. 

 

“Sure you could, but what happens when you’re out of juice, huh,” Donovan asked, clearly knowing the answer. Sherlock grimaced and held his sword aloft once more, ignoring the question. 

 

At night, they were too tired and sore to attempt more than a kiss and cuddle, much to John’s dismay. Who knew when they would see a proper bed again, and one so fine as well! He wished they could lavish attention on each other in it for a month but, sadly, needs must. They were on a deadline. In between their battle training, Sherlock practiced his spells, regaining his proficiency in magic quicker than he did with his sword. John watched in awe as Sherlock levitated objects, whipped streams of water up from the well, and shot bolts of fire and lightning from his fingertips to obliterate targets. 

 

It was undeniably arousing, watching him work. 

 

With his full strength back, where magic was concerned, Sherlock was a force to be reckoned with. The man didn’t need a wand to direct his focus, nor did he need to speak out his incantations. He merely locked eyes on his target and, in a flash, his goal was accomplished. John had to find other things for his eyes to gaze on more than once while Sherlock practiced, for fear of attacking him right there in the courtyard. Their fatigue at the end of the day further frustrated him but he consoled himself that there would be ample time later to give in to his desires for Sherlock. 

 

After all, they had the rest of their lives to ravish each other. 

 

By the end of the week Sherlock had relearned enough skills to, in Donovan’s words, “just enough to keep your skinny arse alive”. John was back up to snuff, being in slightly better shape than Sherlock. Greg, as per usual, had been busy while they trained making all the necessary arrangements. He gathered volunteers who would serve as extra muscle, a cart for their provisions, filled it with said provisions, and the night before they left declared them “as ready as they’ll ever be”. 

 

They left on a grey-pink Sunday morning, with a team consisting of John, Sherlock, Greg, and six men and, most surprisingly, Donovan. Sherlock tried to dissuade her, telling her she was needed more in Poshville, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

 

“Poshville is in good hands with Anderson. He’s not as useless as he seems.” She cuffed him playfully and said, “besides, someone needs to keep your bony arse out of trouble.”

 

John, mock-offended said, “if I recall correctly, that’s my job!”

 

“We all need a little help from time to time,” she said simply, ending all discussion. 

 

They were just half a day’s ride out from Poshville, heading towards the dark lands that consisted of Moriarty’s kingdom when they stopped to rest their horses and stretch their legs. It was in a clearing, as they settled down to have a bite of lunch when a purplish black cloud of smoke appeared, choking all who stood around it and spurring everyone into action, grabbing for their swords. The cloud started to dissipate and a shadowed figure slowly came into view. Then, a voice, called out to them from the swirling, wispy smoke.

 

“Hey there, sexy,” it called to them. 

 

“Who the hell are you,” Donovan asked, Sword held menacingly in her arms. 

 

“Oh no, sweetheart, didn’t mean you. Though, you are rather fetching,” the figure said, turning from a black shadow to a purplish grey, more defined figure. “I was talking to Sherlock.”

 

“Then I’ll ask,” Sherlock said, hands already glowing with purple flames. “Who are you?”

 

“Don’t you recognize me, Sherlock?” At the silence from the group, the figure sighed dramatically. “Awwwww, c’mon! I can’t be that forgettable!”

 

John felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. The hairs on his neck stood at attention and he edged himself closer to Sherlock, moving to stand to the side, ready to jump in front of Sherlock at a moment’s notice. He whispered, “Sherlock...I think-”

 

“Oh, Sir John, our gallant hero knows who I am! How fabulous!” The cloud dissipated a little more and a man in a grey robe revealed himself. Gasps from the group erupted and everyone moved to stand around Sherlock, ready to defend him. “Now you’ve got it!” He waggled his fingers at them all in greeting. “Hiiiiiii,” he singsonged, stretching the word out in his high-pitched voice. 

  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and his stance strengthened, ready for a fight. He swallowed, then spoke in an even, cool voice. “Hello, Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Oh no! Whatever shall our brave team of questers do?! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and found it well worth the wait! I know it's been awhile between updates but man, life's hectic sometimes. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and as always, comments and kudos are appreciated, my lovelies!


	3. Chapter 3

John situated himself directly in front of Sherlock and drew his sword. Behind him, he could feel the heat from flames engulfing Sherlock’s hands. All around them the sounds of swords being drawn and men moving into a defensive position around them filtered their way into John’s ears. Not daring for a moment to waver in his gaze, John stared down the most dangerous wizard known to man.

 

“Relax, boys. And lady,” Moriarty said with a grin. “I just came for a chat.”

 

“How convenient,” Sherlock said from behind John. “As it turns out, we were on our way to seek you, as well.”

 

“For decidedly less amiable conversation, I’ll bet,” Moriarty said in a somewhat bored tone. “Well, doesn’t matter why you were looking for me, Sherlock. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

 

“What does that mean,” John asked. 

 

Moriarty grinned at him. “Pipe down, puppy dog. I mean no harm. This time, anyway.”

 

“How reassuring,” Sherlock said icily. 

 

“Look, I really do have a proposal to offer. And, considering how I showed up without any of  _ my  _ cronies, I think you should hear me out. It’s only polite.”

 

“Says the guy who’s terrorized half the countryside,” Greg muttered under his breath.

 

“Watch it, silver fox,” Moriarty snapped, narrowing his eyes ar Greg. He raised his hand, purple static lightning crackling from his fingertips. 

 

In a second, Sherlock had rushed to stand in front of Greg, his own hands flaming. “Put those away and we can talk.”

 

Moriarty quirked an eyebrow. “Just you and me?”

 

“Just you and me,” Sherlock promised.

 

John’s stomach turned. “Not bloody likely.”

 

“You know, a good guard dog should learn where and when he’s needed, Johnny boy,” Moriarty drawled at him.

 

“John is not a dog,” Sherlock said darkly. “I’ll thank you to stop insinuating as much.” He eyes flicked over to John. “I’ll be fine, John. Trust me.”

 

Donovan chose that moment to speak up. “Sherlock, if you think you’re going anywhere without backup then you’ve clearly left your brain in that damn tower.”

 

“You’re such a spoil sport,” Moriarty complained. 

 

“And I don’t trust you for one second,” Donovan countered, unfazed. “Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

 

“Ooh, I’d love for you to try, Captain,” Moriarty sneered.

 

“I’m with her on this, Sherlock,” John insisted. 

 

“I can handle myself, John! Let’s not forget that little hiccup with those bandits, who was it that saved us all? Oh, right. It was me!”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock,” John groaned, rolling his eyes. “One time,  _ one time _ I need you to save my arse and you lord it over my head!”

 

“You have to admit, it wasn’t your finest-”

 

“Enough!” Moriarty’s voice boomed, effectively ending their bickering. “For all that is flat and green, just shut your gobs!” He sighed deeply, looking pitiful and put-upon. “Fine! Johnny boy can listen in on our conversation if that’s what you need to sit down and pow-wow with me.”

 

John’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His interest in what Moriarty wanted to discuss increased tenfold.  _ If he’s so desperate to be heard, then it must be important _ , he figured. He sheathed his sword and put his hands up in peace. Simultaneously, Moriarty and Sherlock dropped the magic from their hands and stood at ease. 

 

After a moment of silence, Sherlock said cheerfully, “shall we, then?” He gestured for John and Moriarty to follow him a good ways outside the caravan so they could talk in private. When they were a few yards out, Sherlock told Moriarty to spill it. 

 

“Hardly dignified like this, Sherlock. How about this?” Moriarty snapped his fingers and in a second, a big purple and gold festival tent popped up behind him, ready for use. He ducked his head in and said, “oh goody, there’s snacks too. Come along, then.” Then, without waiting for a response, Moriarty walked inside.

 

Nervous, John whispered to Sherlock, “I don’t like this.”

 

“I’ll admit, it’s not ideal-”

 

“Not ideal? That’s an understatement.”

 

“Don’t start, John. We have a sizable cavalry behind us should we require additional assistance.”

 

“Not going to do us much good when he can conjure just about anything he wants in an attempt to murder us. Or transport us anywhere he likes. Did you see him pop up in a cloud of smoke like a proper warlock?”

 

“I have eyes don’t I?! Yes, John, I saw it.”

 

“Then you can understand my hesitance to walk inside that tent and away from easy view.”

 

Sherlock took John’s hand, surprising him. “Trust me. We’re in this together, we’ll be fine.”

 

John took a deep breath, pressing down his rising nerves. Exhaling heavily through his nose he nodded once and followed Sherlock inside the tent. 

 

They were greeted by Moriarty who had claimed a rather comfortable looking throne, legs sprawled unseemly, as he sipped on a cup of tea. He motioned over to the tea service and said, “forgive me, but you gents haven’t exactly given me much reason to be especially hospitable. You’ll have to pour your own tea if you wish to join in.”

 

John shared a look with Sherlock and they mutually decided to forgo tea. Instead, they stood in front of Moriarty and Sherlock told him, in no uncertain terms, to start talking. Moriarty took his time, sipping his tea, then finally said, “the East Wind has come.”

 

A chill ran up John’s spine. Mycroft’s words to them the week prior echoed in his mind as Moriarty spoke. 

 

“So we’ve heard,” Sherlock said, voice calm and cool. “What, pray tell, is the East Wind?”

 

“It’s not a what, rather a whom.”

 

“Do get on with it,” Sherlock implored. 

 

“So hasty, Sherlock,” Moriarty chided, jokingly. “Is there no drama in a good revelation anymore?”

 

“Moriarty,” John warned.

 

“Oh, fiiiiine,” Moriarty said with a sigh. He sat up straight and deposited his tea cup on a nearby tray. He cozied himself in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap before settling an oily smile on his lips. “The East Wind is a woman. An enchantress by the name of Eurus.”

 

“So, literally, the East Wind,” Sherlock translated. 

 

“Exactly.”

 

“So, she’s here. What’s that mean to us?”

 

“It means we have a common enemy.”

 

John squinted at him, skeptical. “What makes you think that? I’ve never heard of this Eurus before.” He turned to Sherlock and asked, “have you?”

 

Sherlock shook his head. “I have not. Why is she a threat to you? And, more importantly, to us?”

 

Moriarty let loose an amused chuckle. “You do enjoy living with freewill don’t you? The ability to decide to do what you want, when you want it.”

 

Sherlock frowned. “Hmph. Not sure I’ve had the pleasure of-”

 

“First of all,” Moriarty interrupted. “We both know that’s not quite true. Despite your royal obligations you threw a  _ royal _ temper tantrum and ensconced yourself in a rather charming tower for the better part of two years, willingly. You chose to do that yourself. You also chose to take up some kind of misguided quest in an attempt to do away with moi,” he gestured to himself, “am I right? Or am I right?”

 

“Spot on,” Sherlock confirmed. “Doesn’t take a genius to puzzle that one out.”

 

“True,” Moriarty replied.

 

“I don’t understand,” John broke in. “What’s this about enjoying freewill? What’s this Eurus up to?”

 

“Excellent question, Johnny.” He rose and both John and Sherlock took an instinctive step back. Moriarty rolled his eyes and said, exasperated, “don’t get your bloomers in a bunch, you two. I have no intention of doing away with you just yet. Where would the fun in that be?”

 

Not expecting a response, he continued on. “As I was saying, Eurus has a grand scheme in place to turn the entire world into a puppet show for her own amusement. To enslave the minds of one and all to do her bidding, whatever that may be. I’ve seen first hand her handiwork. She captured a couple of my,” he paused, choosing his words, “lesser henchmen. Normally I wouldn’t care in the least about a few inepts here and there but her plan would include nabbing  _ all _ of my henchmen, myself, and the rest of the world and that is just  _ not _ on. Something needs to be done and I, unfortunately, cannot do it alone. It’s no fun doing bad things if you can’t convince someone else to do it for you all the while thinking it’s a good idea. The game’s spoiled if you make it too easy,” he pouted.

 

“So why choose us,” Sherlock asked. “Surely there are plenty of other dark wizards out there who would be more than capable of helping you.”

 

“Well, to be fair I didn’t count on adopting any puppies,” Moriarty said, side-eyeing John. “Cute but ultimately useless to me.” Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but Moriarty cut him off. “But, seeing as the only wizard even close to me in power happens to be on the side of angels and comes with his own little entourage it can’t be helped.”

 

“If we do decide to join forces,” John said cautiously, “how do we know you’ll be honorable and not try to kill us in our sleep?”

 

“Am I really so unworthy of trust,” Moriarty asked innocently.

 

“Yes,” the lovers replied immediately. Confidence in their strength together filled John as he stared Moriarty down. 

 

“What would convince you,” Moriarty asked sincerely. “I can honestly tell you that I don’t plan on killing either of you, Sherlock in particular, just yet. To do away with you without having played any games beforehand? No foreplay, all business? Tsk, tsk, so dull. So boring. Brutish, boorish, and utterly ordinary. What’s the fun in that?”

 

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence,” Sherlock replied coolly. 

 

“But it’s the truth. Or, as much of it as you’re going to get from me, sexy,” Moriarty replied with a wink. 

 

John clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to clean Moriarty’s clock for flirting with Sherlock. Not that he had any fear of Sherlock suddenly climbing into Moriarty’s lap at the slightest hint of interest from the warlock. He just didn’t like the way Moriarty oozed confidence and what would pass for charm if there weren’t an undertone of darkness to his words. But, as much as he hated to admit it, clocking him would be counterproductive. 

 

Moriarty noticed John’s defensive posture and smiled at it. “So, I ask again, what would convince you.”

 

John was at a loss so he turned to Sherlock, silently asking what he thought. Sherlock pressed his hands together, putting them to his lips in thought. After a few moments of silence he spoke. “I will need you to enter a Covenant Spell with me.”

 

Moriarty’s eyebrow quirked. “Interesting.”

 

John didn’t like the sound of amusement in Moriarty’s voice. “What’s a Covenant Spell?”

 

“He’s so clueless. It’s almost adorable,” Moriarty said, eyes not moving from Sherlock’s face.

 

Ignoring him, Sherlock explained to John. “It’s a type of contract spell. Very little upkeep but very powerful. Participants enter an agreement under a binding spell. Only after the terms of the agreement are completed will the spell break itself and the participants free from consequence.”

Unease still sat in John’s stomach. “And what happens if one of the participants breaks the terms of agreement?”

 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Moriarty said with undisguised glee.

 

“Death,” Sherlock clarified. 

 

“I don’t like it,” John replied immediately. 

 

“Oh, I do,” Moriarty said with mirth. 

 

“I don’t like it either but it’s the only way to ensure he won’t back out of any agreements, John.”

 

“Or you could just trust me,” Moriarty offered.

 

“Not bloody likely,” John snapped.

 

For a minute, no one spoke. John’s eyes darted between Sherlock and Moriarty, watching for any sign of action from either of them. He wasn’t used to taking the backseat when decisions were made. He was a knight, used to action and thinking for himself when deciding a course of action. But, where magic was involved, he was horribly ignorant and didn’t know what to do. So, he waited silently while a battle of wills raged in front of him. 

 

At length, Moriarty asked happily, “what are your terms?”

 

“The duration of the spell will last until Eurus has been defeated or one of us has perished in the attempt.”

 

“Acceptable,” Moriarty replied. 

 

“You will not physically harm John, myself, or any member of our party.”

 

Moriarty sighed. “If needs must,” he agreed.

 

“You will contribute to this quest personally, not just send some lackey of yours to do your part.”

 

“Of course. Anything else?”

 

Sherlock turned to John and asked him if there was anything he would like to add. At first, he could think of nothing but then a jolt of panic stabbed through him.  _ What if he’s lying to us, _ John thought. To ensure they were not being lured into a trap of some kind, that Moriarty would not be able to manipulate them into something nefarious, John added his own stipulation. “Your words must be truthful. You cannot lie, and you cannot present half-truths. When we ask you a question, it must be an honest, genuine answer. I’ll not have you double cross us halfway into this quest.”

 

A feral smile worked it’s way over Moriarty’s face. “Acceptable terms.”

 

“Have you anything to add,” Sherlock asked.

 

“I’ll specify that you are not to physically harm my person as well, whilst we’re on this little quest.” 

 

“Done,” Sherlock complied. 

 

“And I must have my own tent. None of this bunking business. I like my beauty sleep,” he added, fluttering his eyelashes. 

 

“By all means,” John answered. He had no intention of sharing a tent with anyone other than Sherlock, least of all Moriarty. He could live with that. 

 

“Then I think we’ve covered all our bases. Do we have an accord?” 

 

Moriarty held out a hand for Sherlock to take, signalling that he was willing and ready to begin the spell. Sherlock reached out his own hand and John, in a moment of inspiration, gripped his love’s wrist to join the covenant.

 

“What are you doing,” Sherlock asked, concern filling his eyes. 

 

“I’m not letting you jump into this without me. Where you go, I go,” he stated firmly. 

 

Sherlock stared at him, fear suddenly creeping in around the edges of his voice. “But if he breaks the terms of our agreement-”

 

“Then I go where you go,” John stated simply. “Sherlock, if you die,” he paused, too overcome with the thought of being left alone in the world without him. “If you die, what is there left for me?”

 

“But-”

 

“No buts! It’s both of us or not at all.” He parroted Sherlock’s own words from just a few minutes before back at him, “we’re in this together.”

 

They stared each other down, neither backing down. Sherlock clearly did not want John to join the covenant himself but John was not about to let Sherlock enter into an arrangement where he might sacrifice himself thinking that John would be better off without him. He knew that Sherlock still felt John was obligated to him, as if love were some horrible burden, a chain around his ankle rather than wings that made him fly. If Sherlock thought he would be able to take his life into Moriarty’s hands without backup or consequences, even if he thought he was keeping John from harm, then he was sorely mistaken. 

 

“This whole display is very touching, really,” Moriarty said, voice bored. “But if we want to make any progress on travel today we should wrap this up. So, Johnny boy, in or out?”

 

“In,” John told him. Then he looked Sherlock in the eye again and stated, softer than before, “I’m all in.”

 

Sherlock bit his lip, uncertain, before nodding and said, “shall we begin?”

 

Moriarty flicked his free wrist in a flowy, dismissive gesture and said, “by all means. Do the honors.”

 

Sherlock spoke a few words in a language that was all water and smoke, murky, hard to follow. When the words stopped, their three arms began to glow gold and then Sherlock said in a firm voice, “I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, enter this covenant willingly.”

 

“I, James Moriarty, enter this covenant willingly.”

 

John licked his dry lips.  _ Into the fire, _ he thought silently before adding his own name. “I, John Hamish Watson, enter this covenant willingly.”

 

“The terms of agreement are as follows: none of the participants may physically harm one another, nor any member of their traveling party. None of the participants may slack in their duty to rid the land of the enchantress Eurus. James Moriarty must remain truthful and honest for the duration of this quest. This spell will break itself when the enchantress Eurus is dead or when any of the participants have perished due to outside causes in the attempt to carry out the quest. Make it so.”

 

“Make it so,” Moriarty said, gleefully.

 

“Make it so,” John added. 

 

An unpleasant burning sensation shot up John’s arm, causing him to hiss and pain, fist contracting sharply around Sherlock’s wrist. The other two men reacted in kind, groaning through the pain until the glowing subsided and vanished completely. Slowly, fingers still vibrating from the shock and pain of the spell, Sherlock let go of Moriarty’s arm. Moriarty uncurled his fingers from Sherlock’s but John’s remained resolutely bound to his lover’s limb. Sherlock’s free hand came up to cup over John’s hand, holding him close as their laboured breathing returned to normal. 

 

The seriousness of the covenant in which they had just entered settled heavily over them. But, rather than dwell, John asked the question that was immediate in his mind. “Do all spells hurt like a bitch?”

 

Sherlock chuckled at that, smile genuine. “No, not all of them.”

 

“Only the good ones,” Moriarty concurred. Eyes closed, jaw clenched, he breathed through the pain, his unaffected hand ran up and down his arm to rub it away. When they had all composed themselves, he looked up with a satisfied grin. “Now that that’s over, let’s go kill us an enchantress.”


	4. Chapter 4

The trio of newly bonded allies walked out of Moriarty’s tent and made their way back towards the traveling party; two with concerned frowns and one with an undisguised, gleeful grin. 

 

At their approach, the royal party stood at attention. 

 

“What’s the news, then,” Donovan said, the will to fight clear in her voice. 

 

“We’ve formed a temporary alliance,” Sherlock informed her. 

 

“ _ What! _ ,” Donovan exclaimed.

 

“Are you off your nut,” Greg asked. 

 

“We’ll fill you in along the way,” John promised. “But right now, we’ve got to get a move on. It’s nearing midday already and there’s a lot of ground to cover if we want to get where we’re going.” He turned to Moriarty and asked, “which is where, exactly?”

 

“An Island called Thibaud. It’s about a week’s journey from the coast. Should be a lovely little trip into impending doom.” 

 

“Why are we working with him,” Donovan asked, pointing at Moriarty in accusation. 

 

“Because new information has come to light and Moriarty is no longer our biggest threat. Set a course for the coast and walk with me, Sally. I’ll explain,” Sherlock told her. 

 

It took an hour for Sherlock to fully explain the situation because Donovan kept interrupting with comments ranging from disbelief to “fight me”. John walked alongside them silently sympathizing with Donovan’s distrust and anger. 

 

When Sherlock got to the spell part of the story Donovan shouted at him and smacked his shoulder. “What were you thinking?! What good am I on this quest if you go and throw away all my hard work training you, trying to keep you safe, by entering some kind of death pact!”

 

Sherlock flinched and rubbed his shoulder. “Technically it’s only a death pact if one of us breaks the rules.”

 

“And you think he won’t,” Donovan challenged.

 

“Despite popular belief,” Moriarty said, sidling up to Donovan’s side and throwing an arm around her waist. “I do have a rather strong attachment to life. Why throw it all away just to get Sherlock’s eternal goat?” He smiled ominously at Sherlock and John and added, “it’s his corporeal goat that interests me far more, anyway.” John frowned thunderously and gave him the two finger salute. Moriarty just laughed it off and said, “anyway Sal pal, your prince is safe enough with me for the time being. Scout’s honor.” 

 

“Know this,” Donovan warned. “If anything happens to him and you won’t have long to gloat about it. I will kill you.”

 

“Oh, I’m certain you’ll try,” Moriarty agreed. Without further goading or sassing, Moriarty strode off to walk by himself, leading the party while everyone else trudged along unhappily behind him. 

 

Except for the sounds of men and horses walking and wagon wheels turning, no one made a sound. Some men were uneasy with the new addition to their party, others were just interested in getting to their campsite for the evening. Some, like Greg and Donovan, were on edge and waiting for any sign of distrust from Moriarty. For their part, John and Sherlock had much on their minds and used the walk to organize their thoughts. 

 

When John could no longer stand the silence, he spoke. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask. ‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes’? That’s a fair collection of names.”

 

“You know us royals, we love unnecessary embellishments.”

 

“And you don’t go by ‘William’ because…?”

 

“Because there have been thirty “Williams” in my family’s history. Cousins and uncles, going back ages. And no one ever remembers them for who they were. Only “the William who won that battle”, or “that William who was cruel to his servants”. There’s been so many that they bleed together and form this shapeless blob of William and that’s never sat well with me.”

 

“You want to be remembered for being you. So you chose the most unique of your names.”

 

“You must admit, John. When was the last time you met another ‘Sherlock’?”

 

“Fair point.” They walked in pleasant quiet before John asked another question. “So what’s Mycroft’s full name?”

 

Sherlock smiled. “Mycroft Arthur Prentis Holmes.” 

 

“Good god, that’s pretentious.”

 

Sherlock chuckled. “Well, if the shoe, or name, fits.”

 

They laughed and, just like that, the tension over the party was broken and people began chatting idly once more. They walked until the sun was beginning to dip into the horizon. Their scouts found the party a sizable clearing that met their camping needs and within an hour their camp was up and the party was resting while dinner cooked. 

 

John and Sherlock set up their tent right next to Greg’s, much to his consternation. 

 

“Could you two horndogs go set up somewhere a little more appropriate? Like the nearest cave, far away from my poor ears?”

 

John grinned and gave him a friendly shove. “Come off it, do you think we’re incapable of controlling ourselves?”

 

“I think we’ve been rather good at controlling ourselves, all things considering,” Sherlock said. Then he added, “though that might have more to do with exhaustion than lack of desire.”

 

John put his arms around Sherlock’s waist and kissed his neck. “I’ll give you exhaustion.”

 

Greg threw his hands in the air. “Gods, preserve me. Deliver me from these two idiots.”

 

“Aw, come on now, Greg. Don’t be jealous,” Moriarty said, sidling up to him and causing the conversation to stop cold. “I’m sure that we can find you a pretty, young distraction on this quest. No need to be so distraught.”

 

Greg made a face and walked off without reply. Moriarty shrugged, unaffected, and closed the distance between himself and the lovers. He took one look at the empty space on the other side of their tent and grinned wildly. 

 

“Oh good, there’s space enough for me.” Without further comment, he snapped his fingers and a tent appeared right next to John and Sherlock’s. 

 

“Look, Moriarty,” John said with a frown. “Just because we’re on this quest together doesn’t mean we’re mates. Why don’t you set up somewhere else?”

 

“Now why would I do that? I intend for us to all be great friends at the end of this little quest.”

 

“No you don’t,” Sherlock said plainly. “You just want to keep close to us because you know that no one else at this camp will even tolerate speaking to you. And you don’t do well with being ignored.”

 

Moriarty clutched his chest, pantomiming a great wound but said, “oh! Guilty as charged. Can’t help it, I’m afraid. It is in my nature to be the center of attention.”

 

“Wonder why that is,” Sherlock said with a knowing grin. 

 

“Perhaps one day I’ll tell you,” Moriarty countered. The two stared each other down until the call for dinner pulled them apart. Moriarty left them with a wave and a grin and John and Sherlock watched him go with an air of caution. 

 

“I still don’t trust him,” John confided.

 

“Nor should you,” Sherlock replied. “Just because we’ve put him in a literal bind doesn’t mean he won’t use his binds to cause trouble, should he get bored.”

 

John nodded. “Well, we’ll have to make sure he’s never without something to do.” Letting go of Sherlock’s waist and taking his hand, instead, John lead the way to dinner. “But, in the meantime, let’s grab some food and sit down. My feet are killing me!”

 

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, everyone set up in pairs or trios as they ate. All except for Moriarty, who ate alone. After dinner, those on first watch went to their posts and everyone else either retired to their tents or lazed by the fire, unwinding from the day. Greg took advantage of having others around and happily took to chatting with another guard. Moriarty swanned off to his tent, bidding everyone a pleasant evening. 

 

John wasted no time in getting Sherlock inside their own tent.

 

“It’s odd, not having Greg here beside us,” Sherlock confessed as he settled on his mat.

 

“Are you saying you don’t like the extra room,” John asked cheekily.

 

“Not at all,” Sherlock promised. “It’s just different from our previous adventure, is all.”

 

“Definitely different,” John agreed. “For one, I can do this freely,” he said before leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. Sherlock hummed, pleased, and opened up beneath his kiss. 

 

In between kisses, Sherlock said, “that is...a nice...change in circumstances.”

 

“No talking,” John insisted. “Only kissing.” Sherlock complied happily and soon, he was spread beneath John while they rutted against each other. 

 

John was just undoing Sherlock’s doublet when a voice from outside stopped them cold. 

 

“You two are better than a play, so lively and unscripted.”

 

John growled. “Fuck off, Moriarty!”

 

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do? Do you need direction? I could provide assistance in that matter.”

 

“Step one foot inside this tent and I swear to God, I’ll-”

 

“I hope the rest of that sentence is kiss me, Johnny boy. Remember our little pact?” John didn’t deign to comment. Instead he brooded silently while his erection deflated. “Aw shucks, seems the show’s over for now. What ever will I do with my evening,” he asked rhetorically. “Ta, gentlemen!”

 

John rolled onto his back to glare at the innocent ceiling of their tent, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

 

“John-”

 

“Don’t,” he snapped. 

 

“You shouldn’t let him get to you.”

 

John turned an angry eye on Sherlock. “You still in the mood after that?” 

 

“Well, not with you looking at me like  _ that _ ,” Sherlock told him. “I’d gladly keep going if you didn’t look like you wanted to run someone through with more than just your cock.”

 

John snorted humorlessly before affixing his eyes to the ceiling. He let out a resigned sigh and said, “sorry, Sherlock.” He leaned over and gave him a quick, chaste kiss goodnight. “Good night, love.” Then, he rolled on his side, trying to let the tension out of his body.

 

Unexpectedly, Sherlock’s long arms came around his middle and the prince pressed himself along John’s back. A gentle kiss to the back of his neck made the stiffness seep out of him and he allowed himself to relax. “Good night, John.” 

 

Then, feeling secure in Sherlock’s arms, John slept.

 

 

\~*~/

 

 

The next morning, the party roused themselves and broke camp. They made good time throughout the day and their only trouble was having their way blocked for an hour by a fallen tree. Once removed, it was smooth sailing again and the party ended the day without anything of interest happening. Camp was set up and, much to the disliking of Sherlock and John, Moriarty decided to set up next to them once more. 

 

But John tried to take Sherlock’s advice to heart and not let the warlock get under his skin. They ate their meal with Greg that evening until Donovan called John to first watch. 

 

“I’ll be in our tent when my stint’s over. Go try to get some sleep,” John told Sherlock.

 

Sherlock kissed him and said, “I’ll be there when you’re done. Be careful.”

 

“Oh, you know me,” John said with a grin, walking off towards his post. 

 

The first hour of watch was uneventful. A fox darted past him, on the hunt for his own dinner, and a flock of bats flew over his head chittering and squeaking as they went by. He grew antsy, standing still in his spot so he decided to patrol a little, trying to burn off his excess energy. His route took him back towards the camp and he could have turned around if it weren’t for a pair of voices distracting him from his duty.

 

“-can discuss this further in my tent,” Moriarty’s voice said.

 

“I have no intention of going into your tent, Moriarty,” Sherlock told him firmly.

 

John frowned and stepped closer, hiding behind the enormous tent that Moriarty set up for himself. 

 

“Oh, why not? It’s much bigger than John’s. A lot more fun inside, too. Lots of little distractions from the crushing boredom of inactivity.” 

 

“Who says I’m bored?”

 

“No one had to say anything, Sherlock. It’s plainly obvious from the way you’re stalking around the camp. Greg’s busy having a drink, John’s on watch with Donovan. You’re out of friends, Sherlock and for all your talk of being ‘just fine on your own’”, he said, dripping with sarcasm, “you get bored without an audience too.” He added softly, “I can be an audience for you, Sherlock.”

 

There was a beat of silence, as if Sherlock was mulling it over and it made John’s heart leap into his throat.  _ What in God’s name were they talking about  _ **_before_ ** _ I showed up _ , John thought angrily. 

 

But then Sherlock said, “unlike you, Moriarty, I don’t need constant stimulation from everyone around me in order to be happy.”

 

“Not everyone,” Moriarty agreed. “Just one man and he’s not here right now, is he?”

 

“It’s not like he went to the ends of the earth without me! He’s working. On watch. And I should be in bed waiting for him. Good night, Moriarty.”

 

John smiled, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

 

“Waiting, just like Mary waited while John was working?”

 

Sherlock’s retreating footsteps stopped. John’s heart stopped.  _ What kind of game was he playing, _ John thought, anger rising in him once more. He hated himself for eavesdropping. He wanted to rush in and tell Moriarty to keep his snake-like tongue to himself. He wanted to turn back and trust that Sherlock would keep himself away from Moriarty’s manipulation. He wanted forget that he stumbled upon their conversation. But most of all, he wanted to continue listening to see what would happen without his presence being known. 

 

“What do you know of John and Mary,” Sherlock asked cautiously.

 

“I know lots of things,” Moriarty told him. “And it’s already been established that I’m not allowed to lie to you.”

 

John’s heart hammered in his chest while Sherlock thought over Moriarty’s offering of knowledge. After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock finally answered him. 

 

“Be that as it may, it’s John’s story to tell and no one else’s. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Good night.” And, without another word, the sound of the flap of their tent signalled the end of their conversation. 

 

Moriarty chuckled to himself and John felt like throttling him. “Good night, indeed,” the warlock said before retiring to his own tent. 

 

John walked back to his post, head full of the conversation he had inadvertently listened in on. He felt horrible about intruding. It made it seem like he didn’t trust Sherlock, which wasn’t the case at all! But he still didn’t trust Moriarty. And he knew that Moriarty would do all he could to get to Sherlock, in one way or another, even if they were technically in an alliance. Moriarty had a long game that he intended to play out and that unnerved John to no end. 

 

Not long after he reestablished himself at his post, a new guard came to relieve him and he was sent to his tent. He walked as fast as he dared, not wanting to seem like he was still frantic with guilt and worry. His unease didn’t let up until he was inside their tent and looking down on the calm, sleeping face of his beloved. 

 

At his arrival Sherlock stirred. He yawned, eyes closed, and reached out a hand for John to take. “John,” he whispered sleepily. 

 

“I’m here, love.” He took Sherlock’s hand and was pulled down to snuggle up against his back. He wrapped his arms protectively around Sherlock’s middle and kissed his neck and shoulder. “Go back to sleep. Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Sherlock hummed back, agreeing. “Love you.”

 

John’s heart warmed, even with the shadow of worry looming over him. He kissed Sherlock’s neck once more and said, “I love you too.” 

 

Not long after that, John fell into a light slumber. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I know it's been awhile and this is a shorter chapter but I promise more is coming! Thank you all for being such patient, lovely creatures! <3

The next morning John awoke with a fresh wave of guilt. While he hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on Sherlock, he had ended up doing just that. The unclear direction of Sherlock and Moriarty’s conversation set his teeth on edge and made his gut roil with uncertainty. He knew he would have to address his past with Mary. Sherlock deserved that much at least. But every time he thought about the mortification and heartbreak of how Mary left him he was suddenly back in that church where he was beaten, back in his hovel drinking himself into oblivion. 

 

He was not that man anymore. 

 

Every mile he traveled from his crummy little town, every day spent by Sherlock’s side made him a better man. He wanted to be the hero the stories proclaimed him to be. Not just for the fame and glory. Not just for the rewards it brought, both monetarily and the company he inevitably kept. He wanted to be a hero again so that he could have Sherlock look on him and feel worthy of praise once more. So far, he’d been a rather shite knight. Needing to be saved by his own charge because he had let himself go. All his year-long hiatus had done for him was give him a beer gut, creaky joints, and a slow reaction time. And while he was regaining his previous strength and vigor, he knew that he was not the man he was before Mary. She had broken him so thoroughly that he needed to completely rebuild. Talking of her would fiercely remind him of how much more healing he would need. But more importantly, talking of her would only serve to remind Sherlock that sometimes love was one-sided and he couldn’t bear the thought that he words could put doubt into Sherlock’s mind about his love for him. He had already expressed his insecurity that John’s love was obligatory and not a design of fate that he welcomed with open arms. But he knew not talking about her also made it seem like he was keeping secrets and only served to heighten Sherlock’s fears. 

 

He knew that it would not be painless, digging up the past. But he wanted to wait for a more opportune time. One where they weren’t at the beck and call of an evil wizard. 

 

His unease upon waking carried with him for the next few days as tensions in the camp began to breed. There was a clear divide in the feelings of the party. Half of the men were fiercely loyal to John and Sherlock’s decision to join forces, reasoning that if they were putting aside differences to fight a bigger battle then that was good enough for them. The other half were convinced that the pair had been bewitched when they had their private talk together and the three of them were leading them all to certain doom. The two halves began sniping at each other, getting into arguments over the smallest things, and it kept John, Sherlock, and Donovan busier than they would all like. 

 

For his part, Sherlock was behaving remarkably well under the circumstances. Breaking up fights and negotiating truces between men as if they were children was certainly not on the top of his list and John could tell. When they lay in their tent at night they would spend their precious down time talking over the stresses of the day instead of kissing and exploring each other. There was a comfortable kind of domesticity, even if there was a clear feeling of disappointment and longing between them. But after a day’s worth of travel and constant vigilance to prevent in-fighting, neither of them felt much like doing anything more scandalous than cuddling. While John was still a little bitter that they had not had much time to get to know each other properly, both inside and out, he had to admit that he was relieved to find that he found comfort and a sense of peace just laying in Sherlock’s arms. 

 

That peace was short lived, however, when Sherlock snapped. 

 

John was preparing their tent after a full day’s ride, thighs sore and brain weary, when he heard Sherlock’s shouting. 

 

“You two are behaving like petulant children at a time when you should be behaving like men! Listening to you bicker and snarl at each other is intolerable!” 

 

John sprinted over to where the fight was taking place, to see what the fuss was about. Sherlock’s hands were in his hair, tearing at the roots in frustration, as he paced between two men. 

 

One of them, a man named Baker, pointed at the man across from him and shouted back, “Dobson’s the one behaving like a child! Following blindly to his doom without nary a peep of complaint! Putting his life in the hands of a known source of evil!”

 

“I am a soldier!” Dobson shouted back. “I go where I’m told, do as I’m told. There are things above my paygrade and it’s not my place to question! And it ain’t yours either!” 

 

“You’re a great lemming is what you are!”

 

“Coming from a weak man, that’s not saying much!”

 

Sherlock growled and shouted, “stop! Enough! I’ve had enough! I can’t do this anymore! You want to tear each other’s throats out? Be my bloody guest!” 

 

And with that, Sherlock stalked off into the woods alone. 

 

John’s worry for his partner warred with his anger at the men in their party. He strode over to the two men who had prompted Sherlock’s outburst and eyed them murderously. Seeing his ire, they both shrank back.

 

“This has been going on long enough,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I will not tolerate disloyalty in my camp.” He stood toe to toe with Baker and stared up at the taller man with contempt. “If you think I’ve been bewitched, touched in the head, taken over by Moriarty, then leave. I’ll not stop you. If you don’t trust that we’re in this for the greater good then you’d better run home with your tail between your legs because a cowardly retreat would serve us better than a scared, untrusting soldier in the fray. But know this, if you stay, I’ll not hear one more syllable of dissent. Or I’ll kill you myself.” Baker stood before him, eyes wide. John leaned close enough that his breath ghosted across Baker’s cheek. “Is that understood?”

 

Baker swallowed. “Y-yes, Sir John.”

 

“Good. Not get out of my fucking sight.” Baker got out of his sight without a single word of complaint.  “And that goes for the rest of you  _ men _ ,” John shouted, the label dripped in ire, to the rest of the camp. “If you have a complaint or question about our methods you come directly to me! I’ll not have you whispering and breeding discord behind my back like old, gossipping crones! You all have until dawn to decide where your loyalties lie. After that, any scent of disloyalty will be met with swift and fierce consequences.” He stared them all down and then barked at them to get quit staring and get back to their duties. Orders were followed hastily. 

 

Satisfied for the moment, John set off to find Sherlock.

 

John held his angry glower until he was out of sight of the camp. Then, with a sigh of relief, he dropped the mask and let his worry for Sherlock take over. He stood still, listening for sounds of Sherlock. Moments drifted by without a single sign so he called out for him. 

 

“Sherlock! Where are you?” Silence answered him so he called twice more until a voice far off replied. Following the direction of the voice, John made his way through the forest to find Sherlock sitting on a log, his back to him, shaking with barely contained rage. 

 

“Love, are you okay?”

 

“No, I’m not fucking okay!”

 

John paused in his advance, not sure of how to continue. He wanted to wrap Sherlock in his arms and soothe his anger but he didn’t relish the idea of getting rebuffed. “Alright. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

 

Sherlock snarled at him. “What I need is to be left alone! I’ve not had a moment of peace since you woke me and I am tired of everyone’s chatter! It’s brainless, useless, too loud! Tearing at my attention like dogs on a fox and it’s infuriating John!” He suddenly whirled on him, face wild with fury. “Leave. Me. Be.”

 

John felt rejection sit low in his stomach. It was a reasonable request, to be left alone to cool down when one was angry. But it was not a smart option. An unfamiliar setting, alone in the gathering dark, with a camp of divided men were all a recipe for disaster. Leaving him alone was out of the question. 

 

“It’s dangerous to be alone, Sherlock.” He crept a little closer, hands open as if he were comforting a wild animal. “How about if I sit quietly here with you? Let you fume or talk or whatever you need. Then we can walk back together.”

 

“Your very existence, in this moment, will only serve to infuriate me further,” Sherlock growled.

 

Sherlock’s words slapped John as firmly as if it had been his hand. “What did I do to you?”

 

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me for days! There are questions written on your face and I cannot read them! There is a measure of guilt and in your eyes when you look at me now and I can’t stand it! You’ve changed your mind on me and you feel guilty now that you’re in the thick of it! Well, if you want to escape me, John, you better do it now! I can do this quest without you and you’d never feel obligated to me just because I can’t help my love for you.”

 

Sherlock turned away from him, arms wrapped around himself and on the verge of tears. “I told you from the beginning, just because you were my true love I never expected you to love me in return. If you are feeling guilty now, I beg of you, just leave.” 

 

John’s heart broke open inside him. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Sherlock had seen every negative feeling that he’d been feeling and never once called him out on it. He had patiently been waiting for John to come to him and talk to him. 

 

And John had let him down. Again. 

 

John’s eyes watered with emotion. He had to set the record straight. He reached a hand out to touch Sherlock’s shoulder, “Sherlock. Love, I-”

 

Sherlock flinched away from him. “Don’t! I don’t want your gentle words and platitudes! I don’t want to be hushed and quieted! I want you to be a man and tell me what you really feel and then do me the courtesy of letting me be! If you can’t do that, then just leave and I’ll make my own deductions!”

 

Gathering his courage, desperately wanting to be courageous for Sherlock, he said, “Sherlock, please look at me.” When Sherlock refused to move, John walked around the log and squatted down so that they were at eye level with each other. He took a deep breath and reached for Sherlock’s hands, hands that miraculously didn’t pull away. Mustering every ounce of bravery and love he possessed, John broached the subject he had been dreading. 

 

“It’s time to talk about Mary.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been so patiently waiting, thank you for your patience! It's finally paid off and I've cranked out a new chapter for you. Enjoy! Please remember to leave your kudos and comments, my lovelies! <3

“John,” Sherlock’s voice wobbled. John could see his desires warring on his face, caught between wanting to know and also spare John the pain of retelling the past. “I know that Mary is...a sore subject. You don’t-”

 

“Yes I do,” John interrupted. When Sherlock opened his mouth to further protest, John kissed him lightly to shut him up. When he pulled back it seemed that all Sherlock could do was blink rapidly in confusion. 

 

“Yes I do. Because you will never believe me when I say I am choosing you, even if it is fate, until I tell you everything and prove to you that there is room for you in my heart.”

 

“Even if it hurts you?” Sherlock asked, eyes wide and shiny.

 

He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, took a deep breath, and tore at his long scarred wounds. “Even if it hurts me,” he agreed. He cleared his throat, bringing the past to the front of his mind, and began his story. 

 

 

**~*Three Years Previously*~**

 

 

Once upon a time…

 

The gallant Sir John and his trusty squire Greg were making their way back home -almost home in fact- after a long four months away from home adventuring, when Sir John heard a feminine shriek off in the distance. The pair pulled their horses up short, listening for further sounds of distress. When another reached their ears, John’s instincts to protect those in danger kicked into him into action. 

 

Quick as hound on the hunt he rode off on his horse, deep into the woods, searching for the source of the terrified screams. He could hear Greg’s horse pounding up behind him. He could hear Greg’s voice telling him to slow down, that it was too dangerous to go galloping off after screams with just the two of them, _ do you not have any self preservation skills whatsoever?! _

 

Ignoring Greg’s ever cautious warnings, John spurred his horse to run faster. Bursting through the trees, he was faced with a pack of five salivating wolves going after a young woman doing her best not to become their evening meal. 

 

She was a vision. Unlike any woman he had ever seen. 

 

She wielded a gnarly, heavy oak branch like a club effortlessly, using it to bash at her snarling attackers. He could see that she had been at it for some time; the sweat on her brow glistening in the dappled sunlight, her limbs obviously growing tired with defense, her movements slow as she swatted the wolves around her, all indicating a prolonged fight. She was growing weary and if John didn’t step in, she would succumb to the persistence of the wolves. 

 

Without wasting another second, John dropped gracefully from his horse and ran over to the nearest wolf, plunging his piercing sword into the belly of the foul beast. The pained yelping alerted the rest of the pack, and the woman, to his presence and suddenly he found himself the center of attention. 

 

He grinned at the wolves’ bloodthirsty challenge. 

 

One leapt at him and he dodged just in time for another to snap at him. He swung his sword, slicing across the hide of it as it soared past him, crying in agony. John danced with his sword, parrying and slicing as wolves tried taking him down. When one came just too close to his face, John’s fist swung out of instinct and connected with the side of its skull, knocking the beast back. 

 

Greg’s horse arrived just as another wolf snapped its jaws towards John’s legs. John called to Greg to join him in the fight and, obeying his knight’s command, Greg swung down from his horse and unsheathed his own sword. Seeing a third opponent enter the fray, the wolves divided themselves amongst their targets. One went for Greg, two remained on John, and one went for the “easy pickings” of the fair maiden. 

 

The three battled their predators with valor. John’s blade sang as it found its path into the wolves’ bellies. The forest was alight with the sounds of the fight; the grunting and cries of men, the yelping and growling and snarling of the wolves, it was a symphony of triumph and death. A battle song written just for them. 

 

John dispensed with his two wolves, grunting with the effort. Greg’s sword found a home between the shoulderblades of his wolf. Mary, having no sword of her own, held her wolf off remarkably well as John stalked over to the bloody cur. With a final cry of victory, John swung his sword through the air and decapitated the wolf in one stroke. 

 

And then, for a moment, the only sound to be heard was the ragged panting of the three warriors in the aftermath. Then, locking eyes with the fair maiden and grinning confidently, John bowed and said, “Sir John Watson, at your service mi’lady.”

 

 

~*~

 

Sherlock broke in with an unamused, stink-eye. “Why did you just go on like that as if you were regaling me with a fairytale?”

“Was I?”

 

“You kept using the phrase “fair maiden” and “beasts” and other such fairytale rot. And you cannot be serious that you punched a wolf and still retained your hand? How does that even happen?”

 

“Hey, shut it and listen, that’s only the beginning of the story. And it’s the most uplifting part of the whole thing so I’ll embellish all I like.” Then, adding before continuing on, “and yes, you ponce. I did actually punch that wolf square in the face. Now, where was I?”

 

 

~*~

 

John straightened from his bow to fully take in the woman who stood before him. Her blonde hair, like spun sunlight, brushed her shoulders in curling tangles bathed in sweat. Dirt and wolf’s blood dotted her face, cheeks rosied with exertion. Her clear, grey-blue eyes shone with adrenaline as they regarded him in return. Her slender form still hummed with the fight they had just engaged in; her chest heaving and body still coiled tight for a fight, the oak branch still clutched in her hands. 

 

“Is that supposed to impress me,” she finally asked, rhetorically.

 

“It usually does the trick,” John replied with a grin. He had always loved the damsels who played hard to get after a rescuing. The women who would gratefully throw themselves at him after rescuing were nice, make no mistake. But the ones who still guarded themselves and made him work for their praise were the ones who really got his blood pumping. 

 

“Well,” she huffed, “I thank you for your assistance and I’ll thank you once again for getting back to wherever you came from. You’ll not be seeing any rewards from me any time soon.” 

 

“Can we at least escort you back home? You shouldn’t be out here alone, miss.”

 

“Why? So you can begin harassing me for my “maidenly affections” later?” She scoffed. “Grow up.” She turned and bent to scoop up an unnoticed, upturned basket of mushrooms. 

 

“Not at all!” John protested, kneeling to help her recollect her foraging haul. “I’d just hate to see all my hard work go undone because you were too stubborn to accept a friendly escort.” 

 

“You’re no friend of mine-”

 

“I could be-”

 

“Just a good samaritan looking for a reward. Now, off you pop, before I get my witchy aunt to turn you and your sidekick into toads.”

Greg spoke up, seeking a compromise. “How about we escort you back to town, hmm? That way you can get to your home safely and we can rest easier knowing that you weren’t torn apart by another pack of wolves, hmm?”

 

John and the woman shared a look between themselves then at Greg. John said, “I’m game if you are.”

 

After several quiet seconds, the woman dropped the branch and sighed. “Fine, let’s get going then.” 

 

“By all means,” John acquiesced. 

 

Together, the trio walked over to where the horses stood. Their trusty steeds-

  
  


 

~*~

 

“Trusty steeds?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

 

“Shut up, you,” John said back fondly.

 

~*~

  
  


 

-stood, waiting for them to mount them. John helped the woman into his saddle then swung himself up to sit behind her. 

 

John adjusted himself to maximize his comfort and took up the reins. “So which way is home for you?” The woman pointed the way and John clicked his tongue at his faithful mare and off they went. The silence between the trio stretched between them as they rode until curiosity got the better of John. 

 

“So, mi’lady-”

 

“Nope,” she responded, cutting off John’s answer.

 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

 

“You were about to ask after my name. And what in the world would you do with my name aside from darkening my doorway and calling it after I’ve already rebuffed any advances you are just gasping to make?”

 

John laughed, joy and surprise bursting forth from his chest. “You’re very vain and overly confident aren’t you?”

 

“I could say the same of you,” she quipped back, tossing a grin over her shoulder. 

 

John took the bait, knowing a good chase when he saw one. “It would only be polite to tell me your name. After all, not only did I save you from becoming a tasty morsel for wolves but I also told you my name. Did your mum never teach you manners?”

 

“My mum taught me plenty of manners,” she replied hotly. “She also told me not to accept rides with strangers cause they might be faeries, coming to drag me off to some nefarious fate never to return.”

 

“Then why’d you hop up on my horse than, lassie,” John said with a smirk. 

 

“Because the fae can’t really control you unless you give them your name, silly. I still have a fighting chance of escaping your clutches so long as I keep my name a secret.” She laughed and took the reins from his hands and spurred the horse on faster. John’s hands instinctively clutched onto her waist to keep his balance on the horse. Despite her having taken control of his horse, he was thrilled to be at her side. 

 

Already she fascinated him.

 

“Oi! Did you two forget that you’re not traveling alone?!” Greg called from behind them, struggling to catch up. 

 

John turned his head to shout back, “sorry! She got the drop on me!”

 

Greg’s horse caught up alongside him and he retorted, “clearly!” 

 

It didn’t take long for their village to come into view. Maintaining their speed, the horse barreled down the path. John let her drive the horse on, already excited to see where she would take them. They blew through the main street of town, much to the consternation of everyone else walking the path, and soon they were on the other side of town towards the outskirts. She pulled up the horse in front of a new, one room house that hadn’t been there when John had left town last. 

 

John asked, curious, “what’s this then?” 

 

“My home,” the woman said, dropping off the saddle onto steady legs. 

 

Greg and John shared a perplexed look. Then Greg said, “thought you didn’t want us taking you all the way home?”

 

“Yes, well, you got your wish anyway. You took me home. Now, off with you.”

 

“This is where you live?” John asked, pointing an incredulous finger. 

 

“Obviously,” she tossed over her shoulder, walking up to her door.

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since about three months ago. What’s it to you?”

 

“Cause I live just down there,” John said, pointing back towards town.

 

The woman rolled her eyes and said, “so I suppose that makes us neighbors.”

 

“Guess it does.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and asked, “want to be neighborly and give me your name?”

 

“Can you promise you’re not some fae knight, crawling into my good graces so as to kidnap me?”

 

John asked in reply, “can you promise you’re not some witch who’s cast a spell upon my heart?” 

 

The two smiled each other, silently, while Greg shifted in his seat awkwardly. At length, the woman simply said, “Mary,” before walking inside her home and shutting the door. 

  
  


 

~*~

 

“And that’s how you met? You saved her from a pack of wolves and you brought her home?”

 

John confirmed. “That’s how we met.”

 

“And you tried getting a leg over the second you were able?”

 

John blushed, nodding. “I have...a reputation. I didn’t come by it by accident.”

 

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgment, slightly amused. “But she told you no and yet you persisted. Why?”

 

John sat back on his heels, remembering the way her sarcastic and playful tone dared him to pursue her. He supposed it was similar to the way that he and Sherlock spoke to each other, taunting each other while creeping ever closer. He shook off that particular thought for another time and focused on the question at hand. 

 

Sitting on the log next to Sherlock, he answered, “because I always enjoyed the thrill of a chase. And it didn’t seem like her “no” was a “hard no”, if that makes sense.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, uncomprehending. “Every “no” from me is a “hard no” so you’ll have to explain further.”

 

“Well, uhm,” John stumbled, trying to find a way to explain himself. “It’s sort of a game. She had rebuffed me at first, but then she gave me what I wanted. Her name and the location of her home. If she had been serious about telling me no, she would have left me in the center of town and that would have been the end of it.”

 

“But why the duplicity? That makes no sense,” Sherlock insisted.

 

John chuckled and agreed. “It does seem silly but, then again, I am rather silly.”

 

“No argument there,” Sherlock concurred.

 

“Prat,” John said before telling him to shut it so he could continue. 

 

~*~

  
  


What started out as a simple back and forth of flirtatious comments turned into hot, wet, panting kisses inside a week. John had been diligent in his pursuit, bringing small gifts to her door in order to gain her favor. Flowers, ribbons, bottles of wine, it all went inside her home after several rounds of intoxicating banter until, finally, she asked him inside for a cup of tea. From there it was only a matter of minutes until their mugs of tea were left to cool, forgotten, and John had Mary pressed against the wall with his body-

  
  


 

~*~

 

“Stop! I don’t need to hear the details of your fornicating,” Sherlock told him.

 

“Sorry,” John said sheepishly. “Right, back to the story.”

 

~*~

  
  


 

After their first night of lovemaking John held Mary in his arms, watching the sunset through her window. He was comfortable there; satisfied and content. 

 

“This is a one time thing, you understand,” Mary told him, her head buried in his neck.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yes. Can’t have you making a fairytale cliche out of me. ‘The brave knight rescues a poor peasant girl and they fall in love and fill their hovel with children and love until the day they die’. Sounds dreadful.”

 

John thought it sounded rather lovely, to be quite honest. But, knowing her to be a sarcastic yet pliant person, he didn’t think anything of her statement. “Oh yes, dreadful. I mean, who wants to live a life full of love surrounded by children and dogs while they turn old in grey in front of a fire? I can see the downside there perfectly clear.”

 

“I’m so glad you agree,” She said, running her hand along his naked chest. 

 

“Completely.”

 

But, before he knew it, they were having near daily trists in her home or his. Every time he returned home from a quest, there she was, waiting for him in her doorway. It had become a habit; go off to fight the bad guy, kill the monster, regain what was lost, then come home to some good lovin’ in the arms of a happy woman. Very quickly, what had started out as purely a desire to catch an unattainable prize turned into real feelings. In the quiet of the night they murmured stories of their childhoods, wishes for the future, tales of their day. John would tell her stories of his many quests and she would tell the latest gossip of the town. It was comfortable. Domestic. Blissful, in his opinion. 

 

A year later they had all but combined their houses, even if they still technically lived apart. They spent every moment John wasn’t off questing together and the town was abuzz, wondering when John would pop the question. He asked himself the same question many times. He loved her, truly. They had said so to each other many times. And they already had the routine and expectations of a spouse with one another. But the thought of being trapped, when there was still so much life to live away from home and hearth, kept him from bending the knee. 

 

That was, until the day she was kidnapped and forced to marry. Then he humiliated himself in front of an entire court and king by baring his feelings for all to see only to be rejected. He was stripped of his pride. He was sent into a pit of depression that, until recently, he couldn’t be convinced to crawl out of. He thought things couldn’t get any worse. 

 

But then, life said “hold my ale” and showed him just how much life can suck. 

  
  


 

~*~

 

“Now, I’m going to tell you something that I haven’t told anyone else. Not even Greg knows this,” John told him. 

 

“I’m all ears, John.”

 

“Good...good.” John steeled himself and soldiered on.

 

 

~*~

 

One night, three months after the wedding, John awoke from his wine-thick slumber when someone called his name. 

 

“John, John,” the voice softly called, dragging him from a dreamless sleep into the waking world.

John blinked into the dim of his room and saw a face he had never hoped to see again. 

 

John’s whole body jolted awake, “Mary?! What are you-? How are you-? Are you really here?”

 

Mary, sitting on the bed next to him, smiled at him and said, “yes, John. I’m really here.”

 

John was so overjoyed to see her that he launched from his prone position on the bed to engulfing her in a tight embrace. Mary laughed that carefree laugh that had set his heart aflame as she gently pried him off her. “Down boy, you stink.” She pushed him back onto the pillows and took him in. “You look awful, John.”

 

John felt awful. He ducked his head in shame. He had never thought she would see him at his low point and he hated it. Then he had a gnawing bite of irritation. What had she expected? That he would just pick himself up and not feel a goddamn thing after losing her? He frowned and asked her that very thing. “Well, what did you expect to find, hmm?” His mood took a turn sharply prick-ward and he asked, “what are you even doing here? Come to gloat?”

 

“Of course not,” Mary replied defensively. Her face, softened with concern, was bathed in moonlight and all John could think is that, even when he was furious, she was still the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “I had heard that you...that you-”

 

“That I what?”

 

“That you had taken the wedding hard. That you were brokenhearted. I was worried so I asked Richard if he’d lend me a carriage to check up on you.” A shy smile broke out on her face, “he is very indulgent, King Richard.” 

 

John pursed his lips, angry that she should show concern for him after all she had put him through. “Worried, huh? Why? What do I matter to you anymore?” 

 

“How can you ask me that? We were together for years! You’ve always mattered to me, John,” she insisted.

 

“But you chose him, yeah? A lifetime of security instead of love. I meant what I said, Mary. I love you. Even now when I am so angry I could burst, I love you! And you cast me aside!” Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them back quickly, not wanting to seem more broken than he was. 

 

Then, deflating slightly, he asked, “why?”

 

Her face never wavered from her staggeringly emotionless expression. She said, “it’s obvious isn’t it?”

 

“Not to me, no. You’ll have to explain that a little for me.”

 

“Oh come on, John. Use that brain of yours. It’s good for more than just unbuckling your trousers and slaying dragons,” she said sharply. “Love is all well and good but all it takes is one bad winter with too little food to snuff it out. One bout of illness. One ill-placed arrow or cut of the sword and it’s all gone. It doesn’t put food on the table, it doesn’t build a strong house, and it doesn’t ensure a good quality of life.” 

 

She sighed, a touch of sadness there, and she reached out to cup John’s stubbled jaw. “But money does. And Richard has that in spades. I’ll never go hungry, my clothes will be warm, our children will be educated, and we have doctors on our staff that are lousy with leeches and poultices. That’s the foundation for a legacy. I’d be a fool to toss that away all for the sake of love. And, truth be told, I had no idea you cared for me so deeply until my wedding day.”

 

John’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? How could you not know how much I loved you? I told you near every day!”

 

“But did you show me?” she countered. “Did you put a ring on my finger? Did you move me into your home? Did you keep that prick of yours in your pants while you quested away? Did you ever stop to wonder why, with all the sex we’ve had, that I never once got pregnant? It’s cause I have a special tea, in case you were wondering. Did you ever once show me, with actions, that you wanted to make room for me in your future?”

 

John was at a loss. He had thought about it many times, of course. But no, he hadn’t actually done any of the things she listed. He remained silent and shook his head.

 

“Exactly. So, how was I supposed to know I wasn’t just a notch in your bedpost? Even if I was a favorite one.” She eyed him gently and said, “I’m sorry that I hurt you but I’ll not apologize for ensuring my personal security.” 

 

She leaned in and kissed him firmly, deeply, before rising. “I’ll miss you, you know. We had some great times, you and me. But it’s time you faced it that our love wasn’t built to last. Forget about me, John. Live your life, and I’ll live mine.”

 

And with that, she was gone. 

 

~*~

 

 

After John finished speaking Sherlock was silent for a long time. Then, after processing everything John had told him, he said, “so you got your closure.”

 

“I did, yeah.”

 

“And yet you continued being miserable for several more months until my brother came to you with a quest you couldn’t ignore.”

 

“That’s correct.”

 

“And then you woke me and the rest is history.”

 

“That’s the long and short of it, yes.”

 

Sherlock stared off into the distance, quiet once more. John wished to know what was going on in his big, beautiful brain. But, instead of rushing him, he remained quiet while Sherlock thought. Then, he turned to John and asked the question he had been hoping would never arise. The one that he had been dreading, knowing it was coming. 

 

“Do you still love her?”

 

John answered without hesitation. “No.”

 

“But you were still so destroyed after her,” Sherlock rightly accused. “Even with your closure, the assurance that she would never be yours, you still were miserable without her.”

 

“I was.”

 

“So how can you say that you don’t still hold a candle for her? Who mourns that deeply for someone that they don’t still have feelings for?”

 

“Because she’s not the only reason I was mourning, Sherlock! I was mourning who I was with her, before her. I was angry with myself for letting my heart overrule my head when she told me from the get-go that we were temporary. For not listening that first night and continuing to let myself fall deeper and deeper in love with her but never actually showing her that I cared for her so that, when it came right down to it, she would never have to second guess my feelings! 

 

I was also angry with myself for letting my body waste away in an excess of liquor and sloth. That I let my grief drive me so deep inside myself that all I craved was the next bottle that came across my palm. I had driven away friends and opportunities while I felt sorry for myself to the point where all I had left was a past reputation for great deeds and a squire who is, truth be told, too good for me.”

 

He added as an aside, “though, if you ever tell him that I’ll deny it until my dying breath.

 

“I was angry with myself more than her, when I awoke you. My heart was hurt, my pride still bruised, and my reputation beginning to crumble. Of course, the thought of her still stirs things inside me. But the important thing is that she will never again hold any sway over my heart because I forced her out the second she walked out my door. You have sole ownership of my heart, Sherlock.” 

 

He took Sherlock’s hands in his own and kissed them. “Please, believe me when I tell you this. Yes, I loved Mary. But what I felt for her doesn’t compare to what I feel for you. I survived her leaving me behind. Broken and angry, but I survived. I know now that if you were to leave me it would kill me.” He smiled humorlessly, “even without the covenant spell binding us to that maniac back at camp.” 

 

Sherlock returned his smile and scooted closer to John on their log. “Losing you would kill me too, John. I thought that I could set you free, let you leave, and that I would be okay. But just the thought makes my chest ache.” He closed his eyes and chuckled mirthlessly, “it’s funny how an emotion, something so intangible, can hurt you so.” 

 

“Yeah, emotions. They don’t exactly play fairly, do they,” John said, bumping their shoulders together trying to get a real smile from him. 

 

“So, you’re saying that you choose me? Even though we argue and we come from two different worlds and you had no real choice in the matter to begin with?”

 

John beamed at him, ecstatic that it was finally sinking in. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 

“Then, there’s nothing for it John Watson.” Sherlock sighed heavily before lifting his eyes and smiling brightly at him. “You’re stuck with me.”

 

“Gladly, I might add.”

 

“Is this the part where you kiss me?”

 

“Yes, I believe it is,” John said happily. “Also gladly.”

 

He cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was soft, slow, and sweet. Letting every ounce of love within him warm Sherlock’s heart as their lips worked together. John could feel the last bits of Sherlock’s insecurities melt away as they slotted against each other in an attempt to be closer. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, cradling the back of his head as the kiss deepened. Then, before their passion for each other overwhelmed them, John broke the kiss.

 

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“I love you, John Watson.” 

 

John hugged him close, then, knowing that no matter what came at them on the quest, that they would make it through together. Come hell or high water, nothing would tear them apart. Sir John Watson, the knight of Prince Sherlock Holmes’ heart, would make sure of that. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for waiting so patiently for an update, I promise I haven't abandoned this fic! But, you know how life gets. Summer's been busy but now I finally got a chance to work on this. Hope you all enjoy! Remember, comments and kudos are super appreciated ^_~ <3

After John cleared the air between them, explaining his past with Mary, he and Sherlock began rebuilding a comfortable rhythm with each other. They stayed close to one another, sharing entire conversations in a series of silent looks and offering support when needed. Despite their continuing unease with Moriarty being so near, they did manage to loosen slightly. Thanks to John’s outburst about loyalty, the company finally seemed to unite. Not one man spoke a word of distrust and not one man opted to leave the company. 

 

But, inevitably, when one problem ends another springs up. 

 

They were three days outside the nearest town when John began to have nightmares. 

 

The dreams came innocently enough at first. So innocuous that John hadn’t really found himself arsed to care much. The night the dreams first appeared, John woke several times slightly damp with sweat, having had a series of nonsense dreams. Childlike nightmares like giant spiders crawling in his bed and him showing up to a tournament without his trousers. He even laughed them off at breakfast the next morning with Sherlock. 

 

The next night the dreams were slightly darker and more intangible. An unending sense of doom, the feeling of being chased by some unseen entities that had him waking and gasping so hard that he woke Sherlock. 

 

“John,” Sherlock said, groggy voice breaking through John’s quick breaths. “What’s the matter?”

 

John shook his head, trying to shake the sense of danger from his mind. “Nothing, love.” He laid on his back and let Sherlock snuggle up to him, covering him like another blanket. “Just an odd dream. Nothing more.”

 

Sherlock yawned. “Are you sure?”

 

“Perfectly,” John said, already drifting off once more. “Go back to sleep.”

 

When they awoke the next morning there were no jokes as they ate their bland breakfast of fireside gruel. In fact, John was so unsettled that he only managed to swallow down about half of his breakfast before offering the rest up to Greg. Sherlock looked at him with growing concern but John shrugged it off, determined to look unaffected. 

 

“You’re looking a little rough there, Johnny boy,” Moriarty said from across the fire. His oily smile turned John’s stomach. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

 

Suspicion pricked at John but rather than call him out without any kind of evidence, John said sharply, “sleeping just fine, thank you.” Then he excused himself to ready the horses for the day’s ride. 

 

By the third night, John’s nightmares had become a torment. His dreams were no longer silly or intangible. That night, his dreams seemed very much real and alive. And they shook him to his very core.

 

The dream started out pleasant enough, lulling John into a false sense of security. 

 

_ “Sherlock, I can’t believe it’s all over. Eurus and Moriarty both gone. Us, married. Free to do as we choose.” John kissed Sherlock’s smiling face. “I’m unbearably happy.” _

 

_ “Oh John,” Sherlock said against his lips. He pulled back and took a playful step out of John’s arms with a playful giggle. “Come on, John! Catch me!” _

 

_ Sherlock took off, running across a meadow that John had only just realized was there. They were laughing, darting back and forth across the grassy meadow as John ran to try and catch his love. Sherlock pulled further ahead, well out of John’s reach but he was so happy, John didn’t care. He just kept running, ever trying to capture Sherlock and hold him close again.  _

 

_ Without noticing, a precipice appeared and Sherlock nearly toppled over it. He came up short, his body wobbling and trying to counter balance on the unsteady edge.  _

 

_ “Sherlock!” John said, fear coloring his voice.  _

 

_ “John!” Sherlock managed to save himself but he didn’t move away from the edge.  _

 

_ John stopped a few steps, away so as not to accidentally nudge him off the cliff into the unknown below. “Sherlock, take a step towards me!” He held out his hand. “Take my hand, I’ve got you!”  _

 

_ Sherlock stretched out a shaking hand, his terrified eyes never leaving John’s. But, just as John took a step to brush their fingertips together, a great cracking sound erupted from the earth beneath him and John watched as the cliff began to crumble.  _

 

_ “No,” John whispered. _

 

_ “John?” Sherlock gasped, already starting to fall.  _

 

_ “No!” John lurched forward, trying to grab Sherlock’s hand as he fell back from him. “Sherlock!” _

 

_ Time moved thickly, like sap in winter. John watched as, despite his efforts, Sherlock fell with the crumbling earth beneath him and started to disappear over the remaining cliff. John felt himself hit the ground, arm still outstretched as if it would have any effect in saving him. Tears came to his eyes as he watched Sherlock get swallowed up by dark, menacing waters. He didn’t make a sound the entire way down. But he didn’t need to, his pained face spoke volumes. John had failed him once again.  _

 

_ And this time there would be no way of fixing it.  _

 

_ “Sherlock!” he cried. Tears poured out of him as he shouted his anguish. He shouted and screamed until his throat was raw. He stared at the churning waters until he, too, felt himself slipping from the cliff. In a second, the water seemed to rush up to meet him and he felt a heavy jolt snap his body in one, sharp jerk.  _

 

A voice called out to him even as darkness still surrounded him. “John! John, please wake up!” 

 

It was that voice that finally convinced him to open his eyes. Fluttering his lids open, he blinked through tears to find a terrified Sherlock. His breath came in short, gasping pants and he found he couldn’t stop shivering. As his senses returned, he discovered that he was cowering in a ball with his fists gripped tightly in Sherlock’s shirt.

 

“Sherlock?” he wailed, voice thick with emotion. “Oh god, Sherlock-”

 

“Shh,” Sherlock comforted, wrapping his hands around John. “It was all a dream. You’re awake now, I’m here.” 

 

John didn’t stop the tears that came then. He curled himself tight against Sherlock, letting himself be comforted as he processed what he had just witnessed in his dream.  _ Only a dream, it was only a dream, he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s here, only a dream… _

 

“John, Sherlock,” Greg called from outside the tent. “Are you okay? We heard shouting.”

 

“Fine, Greg,” Sherlock confirmed. “Go back to bed, it’s all fine.”

 

“Are you sure- hey! You can’t just go barging in!” Greg’s voice shouted seconds before Moriarty’s head poked into their tent. 

 

“Evening, boys. What seems to be the problem?”

 

“Get out of here, Moriarty,” Sherlock snarled. 

 

“Why? Seems you could do with a hand. John doesn’t look all that well.”

 

John wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go the fuck away, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. Luckily, Sherlock had more than enough words for the pair of them. “Moriarty,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Get your annoying, unwelcome, odious face out of our tent before I do something we’ll all regret.”

 

Moriarty held up his hands in surrender and said, “I was just wondering if your little pet was getting his beauty sleep, is all. No need to get snippy with me.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He smelled trouble in Moriarty’s nosiness. “Why do you care so much about his sleep?”

 

“Oh, no reason. John was just shouting like a castrated hyena and in my experience that usually means one of two things. Either someone’s getting lucky or someone’s having nightmares.” He grinned darkly and said, “so, which was it? Do share.” 

 

Sherlock pried John’s hands off him and moved to position himself between John and Moriarty. “You know very well what just happened. That still doesn’t answer the question of why you care.” 

 

John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sherlock, it’s okay. Just-”

 

“It is  _ not _ okay!” Sherlock snapped. “Have you been playing with John’s mind?”

 

Ice flooded John’s nerves. He wasn’t even aware that wizards could manipulate dreams. “How? How could he do that?” Anger replacing fear, John sat up into a crouch, ready to launch himself at the prick. All at once, he was very much awake and ready to fight. “ _ Why _ would you do that?!” He ignored the stiff, tacky feeling of dried tears on his face. He pushed aside his fatigue and lingering grief over seeing a dream-Sherlock fall. He was mad and he was not about to sit by and let someone mess with him without a fight.

 

Moriarty shrugged and said, “we all get bored sometimes. Manipulating a mind as simple as yours is no great feat. Could practically do it in  _ my _ sleep,” he answered with a laugh. 

 

In tandem, Sherlock and John surged forward, chasing Moriarty out of their tent. The wizard backed up towards the center of camp, arms still up in surrender as the lovers stalked towards him in fury. 

 

“Bored?! You got bored?!” Sherlock shouted. 

 

“What good are either of us to you or this mission if you put us in danger, Moriarty,” John asked, ire filling his every word. 

 

“Oh calm down,” Moriarty said, sagging dramatically when he stopped his retreat. “No one is in danger after a few nightmares. I would have stopped eventually. Just having a little fun.”

 

“Not in danger?” John huffed, pushing breath out through his nose to keep his voice even. “How is it not putting someone in danger when you deny them rest? Hmm? From lack of sleep I could fall off my horse or lose my footing in a battle. With all my flailing, I could punch Sherlock in my sleep and kill all three of us. Is that what you want?”

 

“I didn’t actually harm you, though,” Moriarty insisted. 

 

“‘Didn’t physically harm me’ my arse!” John shouted. “What you did could be considered torture! What part of ‘not harming each other’ did you not get? How is giving a bloke nightmares about-” John stopped himself, not daring to tell anyone what he dreamt. He bit back the images once more and continued. “Nightmares that having him waking in a panic, what about that isn’t doing harm?”

 

Moriarty clicked his tongue, chiding him. “We said no  _ physical _ harm, John. That leaves a healthy amount of wiggle room to get creative.”

 

By that time, the trio had amassed a bigger audience than just Greg with their shouting. The company formed a ring around them, watching the argument unfold. Undoubtedly giving Moriarty the attention he craved. 

 

Sherlock practically vibrated in anger next to John. “You’re a loathsome creature. Detestable.”

 

“Oh please,” Moriarty said, exasperated. “Aren’t you being just a tad dramatic?”

 

“Dramatic?” Sherlock said, not amused with Moriarty’s little trick, nor with his flippancy in the manner. “That’s rich, coming from you, you overblown drama queen. Mister ‘oh, I’ll just pop in, unwanted, in a cloud of smoke, and flounce around camp like a bedazzled fly just to get attention’. Grow up!”

 

Moriarty’s mouth dropped open in mock hurt. He covered his heart and went, “ouch! That really hurt!” Then he frowned and said. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” When John took a step, fist raised instinctively to punch Moriarty, the wizard raised his hands in self defense. “Remember, lover boy, can’t physically harm me! Not if you want to invoke the spell.” 

 

Sherlock stayed John’s hand and he deflated. Anger and exhaustion pulled at his face and he was at a loss as to what to do. 

 

“They may not, but I can,” Greg said before landing a solid punch to Moriarty’s face. 

 

“Greg, no!” Sherlock cried, rushing forward, too late to stop him. 

 

“Fuck,” John said, fear clawing at his throat. 

 

For a tense minute no one in the camp moved a muscle nor made a sound. It seemed as if the whole world paused their breath to see if the Covenant Spell would kick in and end them all. But, as time ticked by, it seemed as if Greg had found another loophole in the spell. 

 

“Bloody hell, Greg,” said, letting out his breath. “Scared the shit out of me.”

 

“Lucky shot,” Moriarty said from the ground, clutching his face. “Clearly, we neglected to add some specifics when binding the spell.” He moved his already swelling, purpling jaw, to stretch the ache. 

 

“Pity,” Sherlock spat in fake concern.

 

“Well, next time you pull something like that you’ll know you’re not above consequences, you treacherous snake,” Greg said, barely containing his anger. 

 

“Point taken and duly noted,” Moriarty said. He slowly got up from the ground, rubbing his bruising face. “Well, that’s me off to bed then. G’night gents.” Without another word, he strode off to his own tent. 

 

When the coast was clear John shouted to the crowd of people around them, “okay, show’s over. As you were.” He, Sherlock, and Greg watched as everyone grumbling went back to wherever they came from until, at last, they were alone. 

 

John went up and hugged his squire and said, “that was a risky move, Greg.”

 

“It was,” he agreed. 

 

“Thank you,” John told him sincerely. 

 

“Any time,” he said. He pulled back and smiled down at him. “Couldn’t keep letting that prick get away with his shitty behavior. It’s bad for morale.” 

 

John laughed and said, “that it is.”

 

Sherlock laid a tentative hand on Greg’s shoulder and squeezed. “My thanks as well. For doing what neither of us can.”

 

Greg covered Sherlock’s hand with his own and nodded wordlessly. After a moment he said, “well, best get back to bed. Another long day of travel ahead of us.”

 

“Right,” John nodded, leading the way back to their tents. He stopped just outside his and Sherlocks, eyeing Moriarty’s ostentatious one with contempt. 

 

“It’s okay, John. He won’t interfere with your sleep again.” 

 

“Still,” John said, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist to pull him close. “I don’t like having him so close.” 

 

“Neither do I. Perhaps next time we make camp we can persuade him to find a more suitable spot. After all, we’ve now got some leverage to encourage his compliance.”

 

That made John smile. “That we do.” He kissed Sherlock’s cheek and followed him into their tent to try and catch a couple hours’ sleep before dawn. He never managed to get into a deep sleep again but he rested enough to not be completely useless come morning. 

 

The whole next day Moriarty kept his distance. He still rode at the front of the company to lead the way, but he stayed silent and several paces away from the rest of them. John kept letting his eyes cast over to Moriarty’s sullen form as he rode ahead. Whenever he started to feel angry at the previous night’s events, he would catch a glimpse of the bruise on the man’s jaw and he would grin once more. 

 

At midday when they broke to rest the horses and have a quick bite to eat, Moriarty sheepishly made his way over to the patch of grass that Donovan, Greg, John, and Sherlock occupied. The group eyed him with undisguised suspicion and waited for him to speak. 

 

When it became obvious he would not receive a welcome in any form, Moriarty sighed and spoke. “We’re less than three hours from the next town.”

 

“Okay,” Donovan said. “And?”

 

He shrugged. “Thought you might like to know. There’s a rather large inn there. Probably big enough to take most of the company.”

 

“Good. Thank you,” Sherlock told him. 

 

Then, without further recognition the group resumed their eating and amiable chatting, effectively exiling the wizard. Knowing he was dismissed, Moriarty took his leave and took a seat a few yards from them. He conjured a chair and his own meal and ate alone, sneaking glances at them. It almost made John feel sorry for him. 

 

Almost. 

 

By the time they rode up to the gates of the new town, sunset was a couple hours off and everyone was aching for some down time. John stopped the company just outside the town to address the lot of them. 

 

“Right. I want to thank all of you for sticking with us and rolling with the punches, despite the rough patches.” John gave Moriarty silent side-eye, wordlessly calling him out, before continuing. “We will stay tonight and tomorrow night here. This is a chance to rest, resupply, and relax. Our escort, Moriarty, says that the coast is two more days ride from here. Consider this your time to have some fun before the real journey begins. Report back here at eight in the morning, day after next. Dismissed.” 

 

A chorus of thank-you’s and cheering erupted from the band of knights and mercenaries as they made their way into the little town. John and Sherlock watched them go before finally following them in to find their own room at the nearby inn. He took Sherlock’s hand and kissed it, grabbing the leads of his horse with his free hand as they walked through the gate.

 

“Ready for some proper rest in a proper bed?” John asked cheekily. 

 

“Absolutely. If you call ‘not leaving the bed until they’ll need to burn the sheets’ proper rest.”

 

John laughed aloud. “Naughty man,” he chided. 

 

“You like it,” Sherlock said, purring in his ear, voice full of laughter. 

 

“I do. God help me, I do.”

 

When they got to the inn, the pair had their horses stabled and unbuckled their packs from the beasts before striding inside to ask after a room. John scanned the busy lower floor that also doubled as a pub, looking for any familiar faces. He saw a couple of the knights already toasting over mugs of ale and smiled at their raucous and jovial demeanors. He was even more pleased to note that Moriarty was absent. He had a feeling that even if Moriarty planned on staying in the same inn that the man would make himself scarce. John finally felt easy taking a breath.

 

As he looked around, a woman came up to ask their business. “What d’you need boys?” She balanced a tray laden with bowls of stew and bread as she eyed them. John suddenly felt his stomach growl, remembering how long it had been since they had eaten.  

 

Shaking off thoughts of dinner for the moment, John smiled and said, “I’m John, this is Sherlock. We need a room for two nights.”

 

“I’m Molly, pleased to meet you.” She pointed to the ceiling above and said, “we got a few rooms available. Give me a mo’ and I’ll take you up.”

 

“Thank you, Molly,” Sherlock said sincerely. “We’ll wait right here.” 

 

After Molly dropped her tray of food off she came back and escorted the two men upstairs. She took a key out of her apron to unlock a door and said, “sorry but there’s just the one bed.”

 

Sherlock smirked and nudged John amiably. “I think we’ll manage.”

 

“Shut it,” John said goodnaturedly, smiling up at his madman. 

 

Molly blushed and said, “oh. Oh, yes. Sorry.” She handed the key over to the men and said, “we’ll be serving food until ten. Have a good evening!” She then took her leave, taking to the stairs in order to continue serving the customers below. 

 

John gestured to the empty room, “after you.”

 

Sherlock strode inside and dropped his bag. John only had time to drop his own bag and close the door before he was backed up into it and was covered in Sherlock’s body. 

 

“Finally,” Sherlock practically growled. “I have been  _ dying _ to get you alone.”

 

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock to pull him impossibly closer, more than okay with where things were headed. “Me too. So much.” He tilted his head up to capture Sherlock’s lips with his own, kissing him filthily and wetly. 

 

Sherlock’s hands went to John’s hips and they tugged as he began to walk backwards towards the bed. The room being small, it didn’t take more than a few steps until Sherlock was able to turn them and throw John down on the bed. Before John had any chance to move, Sherlock was straddling him and kissing John like a desperate man. John’s fingers found themselves in Sherlock’s hair, gripping at the roots to pull a gasp from the man above him. 

 

John managed to free his lips long enough to ask, “what do you want, sweetheart? Tell me?”

 

Sherlock said between kisses. “I want you. I want all of you.” He reached down to palm John through his trousers. “I want,” he hesitated, his previous confidence seeping away. He pulled back to look John in the eye. “Were...were you serious? About what you said? About,” he paused, biting his lip. His cheeks flared with embarrassment. 

 

John reached out a hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek. “Serious about what, love?”   
  


“About...remember what you said before? About letting me. Do. Uhm.” 

 

Understanding fell on John and his mouth dropped open in a silent ‘oh’. Before Sherlock can take back his request John kissed him and he said, “of course I remember.” He couldn’t quite believe his luck that Sherlock wanted to fuck him.  _ Sherlock _ wanted to fuck  _ him.  _ Suddenly his skin felt too tight, too hot in his clothes and he desperately wanted to be rid of them. 

 

But he couldn’t let himself be too hasty. Not yet. John knew that for what Sherlock had in mind they needed supplies. Supplies that John neglected to procure before they left Poshville. John bit his lip and mentally kicked himself for the oversight. 

 

“If you want to have me that way, we’ll need a few things.” 

 

“Oh.” Sherlock’s embarrassment flares anew and John could see him start to retreat. His ignorance on the subject of buggering made John more aroused than he should be. John knew from the start that Sherlock was inexperienced. He would be lying if he didn’t say that he was over the moon about being Sherlock’s first. But he didn’t want Sherlock to feel like he was silly for not knowing how to proceed. In fact, he wanted to praise him for his bravery. He wanted to teach him, show him, make everything good for him so that he would have more confidence in initiating in the future. Perhaps even allow John to fuck him some day. Just the thought made John groan and grind their hips together. 

 

But, before they got too lost in their pleasure, John forced himself to put some space between them. 

 

“I’ll need to step out to get something to ease your way. I’ll need to,” John grinned at his own embarrassment in talking about the subject, “open myself up for you.”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock replied breathlessly.

 

“While I’m gone, if you could order some warm water and towels?”

 

“Yes, John.” 

 

John kissed him once more, to steady them both, before standing. He walked to the door and said, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t start without me.” With a wink and a smile, he was out the door and heading towards the stairs. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry for the long space between updates but, you know, life is hectic and all that jazz. But I've made it up to you, I hope! Here's the bit we've all been waiting for: some good hotel sex. Enjoy, you lusty animals!

John hurried as fast as he could down the stairs, adjusting his very ardent prick as he moved. Once down in the tavern of the inn John flagged Molly down once more.

 

“Oh, is everything alright, John?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” John said. “I just wondered if you might point me in the direction of an apothecary?”

 

“Are you unwell?”

 

John blushed and shook his head, a shy smile on his face. “Not exactly. Just need a couple of...items.”

 

Realization dawned on her and she, too, blushed. “Oh, right. Out the main door, take a left. Just down the street. Big sign with a green bottle on it. Can’t miss it.”

 

“Thank you, Molly. I appreciate it.” Without further conversation, he darted for the door and took off in the direction Molly indicated. As he walked his arousal went from scalding to simmering, for which he was grateful. Walking through a new town was always an experience for John; the colors, sounds, and smells all different and yet familiar across every land he’d traveled to. The styles of the clothes hanging from windows differed, the spices and grease of street food unique, but the sounds of children laughing and people talking and music from traveling musicians a thread tying all towns together in John’s mind. It made his heart light and brought a smile to his face as he took it all in. 

 

After a few minutes of exploration John spied the sign Molly had described: a large wooden panel painted with a green potion bottle. Underneath, for those who could read, were neat stencilled letters spelling out “Apothecary”. 

 

“Perfect,” John whispered to himself, picking up his pace. 

 

Once inside, John was greeted by the proprietor, an older balding man with a pleasant smile. “Ah, hello, good day. What can I help you with?”

 

John walked up to the counter and said, “I’m in need of some oil.” 

 

“Of course,” the man said. “And what kind would you be needing? We’ve got some frankincense, hyssop, mugwort, olive-”

 

“Ah yes, olive please.” 

 

The man quirked an eyebrow and a wry grin, knowing exactly the purpose of such an item. “Certainly.” He reached into a cabinet that stood behind him and pulled out a gigantic ewer of oil. Then he reached under the counter and pulled out a variety of jars. “How much do you think you’ll be needing?” 

 

John eyed the jars, trying to estimate just how much they could conceivably use on their journey. He eventually chose one about the size of a large apple.  _ If nothing else,  _ he reasoned,  _ might be able to use it while we’re at sea.  _ The apothecary filled the jar and capped it tightly, weighing it before handing it over the counter. 

 

“Will there be anything else you require?” 

 

John shook his head. “Not at the moment, thank you.” John took a few coins from his purse to give to the man and carefully fit the bottle inside. When he emerged from the shop his nose caught the scent of fresh hand pies and his stomach sharply reminded him that neither he nor Sherlock had eaten dinner. Making a quick detour, John grabbed half a dozen meat pies and two blackberry ones as a treat. With his pies wrapped in butcher paper and still piping hot, John then quickly made his way back to the inn. 

 

One more quick detour procured them a large bottle of small beer and then John couldn’t keep Sherlock waiting any longer. He took the stairs to their room two at a time and knocked at their door. “Sherlock, you decent?”

 

Sherlock replied back, “never,” and John barked out a laugh. He opened the door and was graced with a blissfully half-naked Sherlock. Sherlock gestured to the large metal tub in the middle of the room and said, “water’s just come. It’s  _ very _ hot.”

 

John grinned. “Just the way I like it.” He set their dinner down on the nightstand and shrugged off his jacket. “Best get to it while it’s still hot.” 

 

In no time they were both naked and sitting facing one another in the tub. With little more than a handbreadth between them, Sherlock scoffed. “I will say this, I definitely prefer the bath at home. Much more room.”

 

“I think I can make it more tolerable,” John said with a smile. He spread his legs so that they bracketed Sherlock’s bent knees. Then he held out his hands and said, “come here, back to me.” 

 

Sherlock moved to comply and in a moment was situated with his back against John’s chest. Sherlock sighed happily and said, “much better.” John chuckled and reached for a washcloth to begin washing away the dust from travel. 

 

Sherlock sniffed the air while John washed him. “Meat pies?”

 

“Mhmm,” John hummed in return. “For after we’re done. Even got a couple sweet pies, as well.” 

 

Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation. “John Watson, you’ll spoil me rotten.”

 

John chuckled, kissing his damp head. “You’re already spoiled. But it’s my pleasure to treat you anyhow.” 

 

When Sherlock was clean from head to toe he returned the favor, running the cloth over John’s skin. John sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of someone caring for him in such a manner. He searched his brain, looking for a time when anyone had bathed him and came up empty. Once they were both clean they sat together, letting the water relax them until it was tepid. 

 

“Dinner,” Sherlock asked, looking into John’s eyes.

 

“Starving,” John agreed. He shifted, helping Sherlock stand before following him out of the tub. They toweled off and sat naked on their bed to devour their meal. They had cooled but were still a bit warm in the center and unbelievably good to their empty stomachs. They ate quickly, passing the bottle of beer back and forth as they ate. In no time, the meat pies were gone and the bottle was empty. John licked the grease off his fingers while Sherlock stared. The frantic, desperate air from before had dissipated. In its wake, desire slowly simmered between the two of them but it seemed as if neither was sure how to proceed. 

 

Sherlock licked his lips, his face uncertain. “So. What do we do now?”

 

John, usually so much smoother than that moment, bit his lip shyly. “How about we start with a kiss?”

 

Sherlock nodded and they slid closer together, closing the distance between them until their naked bodies were pressed together. They both sighed at the contact, wrapping their arms around each other. John tilted his head, kissing Sherlock softly. He returned John’s kiss, slotting their lips together in a gentle slide. After a moment Sherlock lightly lapped at John’s lips with the tip of his tongue, silently asking for entry. John granted it, opening his mouth with a small gasp. The kiss slowly gathered heat, lips and tongue and teeth working together to pull sighs and gasps from each other. Their hands roamed over their exposed expanses, grasping and trailing and lightly scratching over their flesh to raise goosebumps and make each other keen and moan.

 

John’s cock began to fill, twitching against his leg in interest. Running on instinct, he pulled Sherlock close to him so he could maneuver them both to lay at the head of the bed. Their legs tangled together and their hips moved in tiny thrusts, seeking friction. John ground his pelvis into Sherlock’s, biting his bottom lip at the same time.  

 

“ _ John _ ,” Sherlock growled, responding with a thrust of his own hips. His hardened prick smeared precome across John’s belly and John shivered, wanting to feel it inside him. 

 

“ _ Christ _ , Sherlock,” John breathed across his lips. “I can feel you, want to feel you,” he panted, leaving open mouthed kisses under Sherlock’s jaw. He could feel Sherlock swallow as he kissed his way down his neck. 

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said hoarsely. His hands slid down to John’s arse, gripping his cheeks.  “Want that, too.” 

 

With no small amount of difficulty, John pulled himself from Sherlock’s neck. He caught Sherlock’s eye and said, “need something first. Let me just,” he gestured to the heap of his clothes on the floor, disentangling himself from Sherlock. He stood on unsteady legs, his cock throbbing madly between his legs, and walked over to his trousers where his purse held what he needed. He turned the jar over in his hands, steadying his nerves. It had been awhile since he had done this but he wanted it so badly he could barely see straight. Settled back in the bed, he laid on his back holding the bottle out for Sherlock’s inspection. 

 

Sherlock took it and popped the cork before giving it a little sniff. “Olive oil.”

 

“It’s to make everything...slick.”

 

“Slick?”

 

“Easier. Easier for you to slide into me.” 

 

“Oh.” Sherlock blinked at him, cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. 

 

John kissed him once, reassuring him. “I need to prepare myself for you. Why don’t you watch this first time? Show you how it’s done.” John grinned, laying flat on his back next to Sherlock. He shifted until he was comfortable and pointed to the bottle, “I want you to pour it on my hand when I ask for it. Don’t want to go dropping it, do we?” 

 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, John.” 

 

Wordlessly, John held out his hand and Sherlock drizzled the oil into his palm. John smeared the oil with his thumb to coat his fingers. John spread his legs and reached down to slide a finger into the crack of his arse. 

 

“Wait,” Sherlock said, and John stopped. He quickly shuffled to kneel between John’s open legs so that he had a better view. With this position, John could spread his legs further and Sherlock could watch John tilt his hips up and his fingers slide in and out of himself while he loosened his hole. Being so explicitly on display gave John a little thrill, a spark of pleasure curling low in his spine. 

 

“Ready?” Sherlock nodded once more and John resumed sliding his finger between his cheeks. His fingertip found his furled hole and he flinched slightly at the cool, slick sensation of the oil before it warmed against his hot skin. At first, he just rubbed gentle, firm circles against the muscle, coaxing it to relax under the pressure. Then, slowly, his breached his hole and his eyes slid shut at the intrusion. Breathing evenly, in through his nose and out his mouth, he slid his finger in and out, penetrating further until his finger was fully seated inside. A hand gripped his knee, startling him. 

 

He opened his eyes to find Sherlock staring at him hungrily. He tipped his head towards his hand on his knee and asked, “is this okay?”

 

John nodded, “yes. Just startled me is all.” 

 

He slid his finger in and out for a minute, letting the oil slick his passage. He winced when he pulled the finger out and held his palm out for more oil. When his hand returned between his legs his single finger was joined by a second, adding a familiar burn and stretch to the list of the sensations on John’s body. He held his breath, letting the discomfort pass, and once he relaxed he began to move his fingers in earnest. He slid them in and out, distributing the oil and scissoring his fingers to loosen himself. He began to pant and gasp with each stroke of his fingers. He braced his feet against the mattress and moved his hips to establish a rhythm that had him moaning. 

 

By the time he added a third finger, sweat had begun to break out on his forehead and he could feel his heartbeat in his cock. He bit his lip, trying to reach the bundle of nerves he knew would send a wave of pleasure coursing through him. He could almost reach and he whined with the effort. 

 

“You want something, what is it,” Sherlock asked, breathless. 

 

“There’s a spot,” John said between gasps. “A spot inside, feels good, can’t reach.” He pulled his fingers free, feeling unbelievably open. “Pour some of that,” he gestured to the oil, “and slick up your cock. I’m ready.” 

 

Quick to obey, Sherlock hissed as the cool oil touched his cock. Then his mouth dropped open when he gripped himself in his slippery fist and John could see a full body shiver take him. “ _ Oh!”  _ He said, “oh God, that’s...that’s so-”

 

“I know,” John assured. “Ready, love? Ready for it to get better?” 

 

“Not sure I can handle it,” Sherlock choked out. “Not sure I won’t combust on the spot.” 

John grinned, laying back heavily into the mattress. He closed his eyes, steadying himself. “Put that jar down and get over here before I combust.” With the jar corked and his cock dripping with oil, Sherlock shuffled forward on his knees until they were nearly touching. John spread his legs further, exposing his hole to Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation. John tilted his hips invitingly and, without further prompting, Sherlock bent over him and guided the head of his cock inside. 

 

They both groaned and tensed when Sherlock breached him. John willed himself to relax, knowing that the burn would turn to pleasure in a moment or two. Sherlock breathed heavily, trying to keep still. 

 

“It’s so much,” he ground out between his barred teeth. 

 

“It is.” A few seconds passed and John said, “you can move deeper now.” 

 

Little by little, Sherlock buried himself in John until their hips were flush together. Once fully seated they both breathed out a sigh of relief. John ran soothing hands up and down Sherlock’s tense back while he focused on his breathing. “You alright, there?”

 

“Fine,” he choked out. “You’re so warm. So tight.” 

 

John smiled, opening his eyes to see what his body had done to his love. Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at where they were joined, as if he couldn’t believe that he was actually inside John. John’s hand came to tilt Sherlock’s face upwards. With every ounce of passion he could muster, John said, “you feel  _ so good _ Sherlock.” 

 

Sherlock shivered violently and ground his hips impossibly further, whining at John’s words. “John, I want. I need to-”

 

“You want to move? Want to fuck me?”

 

“Yes! Please, say I can?” 

 

John’s fingers tightened around Sherlock’s chin and he pulled so that they could kiss. The shift inside him made John moan into Sherlock’s mouth. “Go ahead, slow at first. Let me feel you, come on.” 

 

Sherlock pulled halfway out and thrust back in, both of them groaning with the movement. Sherlock repeated the movement over and over, moving faster with each thrust. In no time the discomfort of penetration receded and all John could feel was deliciously full. He began to rock back into Sherlock, his breathing coming faster as pleasure built in him. His erection, which had waned a little at the beginning, was hard and hot as iron against his stomach. Whenever Sherlock’s belly brushed against it he twitched, pressing upwards into the sensation. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as he tilted his hips, desperately seeking the spot inside him that always made him see stars. 

 

When he finally found it his shout startled them both. 

 

“John! John are you alright? Did I-”

 

“Fine! Fine fine fine,” John said, panting, gripping the base of his cock to keep from coming right then. “I just found that spot, the sweet spot.” John tried bucking up again, looking for it again. “Please Sherlock, keep going! Almost there, so good!” 

 

Sherlock resumed fucking him, and when he hit John’s sweet spot once again he was ready for John’s shout. “Like that,” he asked, watching John intently. 

 

“Yes! Yes, right there!” 

 

Sherlock held John’s hips still and steady and began thrusting into him fast, managing to hit that spot every time, bringing John to the brink. 

 

“ _ Oh god oh god oh god oh god,”  _ John chanted, hand flying on his cock as he chased his orgasm. “Just,” John gasped, keening, “a little harder! Please!” 

 

Sherlock obliged, thrusting harder and all it took was three more strokes for John to break. John came with a shout, clenching around Sherlock and stroking his cock through it. His hot release landed on his belly and chest and his back arched with the intensity of his orgasm. 

 

Sherlock held him, watching as pleasure racked his body, shivering with need. He practically vibrated inside him and he said in a desperate voice, “John, you.” He gasped as the aftershocks of John’s orgasms made him flutter around his cock. “You were so tight I nearly came. I want to come. I want to so badly.” 

 

John wrapped his arms and legs around Sherlock to keep him close. “Do it, do it right here. Come in me, love.” He clenched around him in encouragement and Sherlock cried out. Without further prompting, Sherlock snapped his hips rapidly to bury himself in John over and over again. “That’s it, come on,” John told him. “Come for me.” 

 

“John John  _ John!”  _ Sherlock cried as he finally stilled, cock pulsing inside him as his orgasm overtook him. Sherlock bit down on John’s shoulder, moaning loudly into his skin. John tightened his grip, holding him through it. 

 

Then, gracelessly, Sherlock slumped on top of John, effectively trapping him. 

 

“Oof,” John gasped, giggling lightly. “You great loaf of a man, you’ll suffocate me.”

“Only fair,” Sherlock said, face buried in John’s neck. “I think you’ve killed me.” 

 

John, smiling and laughing, prodded him and said, “come on, love. Shift just a bit, there we go.” He winced when the jostling unseated Sherlock softening cock but sucked in a deep, satisfied breath nonetheless. John turned to lay on his side, collecting Sherlock in his arms. With a small amount of shuffling they entangled their limbs and their faces tilted towards each other for breathless kisses. 

 

“So, how was that for you,” John said, still grinning.

 

Sherlock pressed kisses to John’s neck. “Earth shattering. Shocking. Incredibly satisfying. You?”

 

“So. Fucking. Good.” John stretched, yawning. He reached over the edge of the bed to retrieve their slightly damp cloth from earlier and wiped them down. When he was done he chucked it over the side again and giggled at its wet slap against the floor. 

 

“Gross,” Sherlock commented.

 

“Hilarious.” He kissed Sherlock’s head and asked, “sleep? Recharge and have another go?”

 

Sherlock’s chuckle turned into a weighty yawn. “Yes. Then maybe those fruit pies. Don’t think I forgot about those.” 

 

John hugged him close and said, “of course not.” 

 

In a matter of moments, they both fell into a contented sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Don't forget to leave me some love, your comments fuel me ^_^ <3


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